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In the morning bow thy seed. 

and in the evening withhold not thine hand, 
for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, 
either this or that, 
or whether both shall be alike good. 

Eccl. xi, 6, 


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THE 


s I g'n E T-R I N G 

AND OTH ER 


GEMS. 



GOULD AND LINCOLN, 

69 Washinotoh Strekt, 

NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY. 
CINCINNATI : GEORGE S. BLANCHARD. 

I 86 0. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year I860, by 

GOULD AND LINCOLN, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


01£0 • 


PRINTED BT 
C. RAND & AVERY. 


Andover : 

Electrotyped by TT. F. Draper. 


PUBLISHERS’ NOTE 


ooI:©iO« 

first part of this volume, The Signet-Ring, 
was published several years ago. The name 
and residence of the author were then unknown; but 
its freshness of thought, and simple elegance of style, 
and rich vein of experimental piety, commended it to 
general favor, and the edition was soon exhausted. The 
American publishers have since obtained two other small 
works from the same graceful pen. They are all included 
in the present volume, and no reader can fail to be 
charmed with the skill and earnestness with which the 
great truths of the gospel are illustrated and enforced. 

The New Testament parables are the models from 

which Mr. Dc Liefde has derived his method of instruc- 
1 * 


VI 


PUBLISHERS’ NOTE. 


tion. The every-day incidents of life are made by his 
subtle skill to yield divine lessons: as, in some statuary 
we read of, the commonest materials are made, by the 
hand of genius, to serve the purposes of the highest art. 

The author has attained great popularity in Germany 
and England, and his charming works have passed 
through many editions. The reviews generally echo 
the opinion of the Scottish Guardian: “We have not 
found in so small a compass a mass of Christian experi- 
ence so pregnant with instruction to all who are engaged 
in the Lord’s work.” 

Ministers, and other teachers of religion and morals, 
may receive wise suggestions from these pages; while to 
formalists, and self-deceived professors, and lovers of 
the world, they may come with quickening power as a 
message from God. 


Boston, Junk 1 , 1860 . 


CONTENTS 


OOj^O-0 


CHAPTER I. 

GEGENBURG AND ITS INHABITANTS, ... 15 

CHAPTER II. 


UNCLE CHRISTIAN AND THE SIGNET-RING — WHY WE 
WENT TO GEGENBURG, 18 

CHAPTER III. 

THE SINGULAR SERMON, 26 


CHAPTER IV. 

IT IS HARD TO GIVE FREELY, AND QUITE AS HARD TO 
RECEIVE FREELY, 37 


CHAPTER V. 

PASTORAL VISITING — ROUND-ABOUT WAY OF DOING 
GOOD — ONE IMPARTS TO OTHERS ONLY WHAT HE 
HAS RECEIVED, 50 


vni 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER VI. 

ANGRY REBUKE REPELS HEARTS THAT KIND WORDS 
MIGHT HAVE WON, ....... 61 

CHAPTER VII. 

A LITTLE FIRE KINDLETH A GREAT MATTER — IT IS 
HARD TO RETRACE A WRONG PATH WITH REPEN- 
TANCE AND CONFESSION, . . . . ■ . 76 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE TRUTH NEVER TO BE SACRIFICED FOR CONCILIA- 
TION, 85 


CHAPTER IX. 

SALUTARY LESSONS OF SICKNESS — RICH FRUITS OF 
GOSPEL LABOR, 90 


-O0>©<0-0 

Inijtiritaittj. 


CHAPTER I. 

A RESTLESS CHILD EXPECTS HAPPINESS AWAY FROM 
HOME, BUT IS DISAPPOINTED IN HIS SEARCH FOR 
PLEASURE, 101 


CHAPTER II. 

REMORSE — LONGINGS AFTER HOME — BECOMES HEIR 
TO A LARGE INHERITANCE, 115 


C ONTENTS 


IX 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SETTING OUT UPON THE JOURNEY FOR THE IN- 
HERITANCE — TEMPTATIONS TO DOUBT THE FATHER’S 
WORD, .124 


CHAPTER IV. 

WE ARE HEIRS THROUGH BELIEF OP THE FATHER’S 
WORD, AND MUST NOT DOUBT THE TRUTH OF THE 
EVIDENCE FOR ANY OBJECTIONS OR CRITICISMS 
- THAT MAY BE BROUGHT AGAINST IT, . . 137 


CHAPTER V. 

ON A JOURNEY WE PLACE THE UTMOST CONFIDENCE 
IN THE CONDUCTOR — IT IS ALWAYS USELESS TO 
TALK ABOUT LIGHT TO THE BLIND, . . . 144 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE HEART CANNOT BE FILLED BY THE THOUGHT OP 
THE INHERITANCE, UNLESS ONE IS HIMSELF THE 
HEIR — IF ONE BE NOT THE HEIR, NO SUBJECT IS 
SO TIRESOME AS THAT OF THE INHERITANCE, 153 


CHAPTER VII. 

HOW FOOLISH IT IS TO LOSE THE OBJECT OP A JOUR- 
NEY FOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE REFRESHMENT BY 
THE WAY, 161 


X 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IT IS MERE FOLLY TO SEEK TO, ATTAIN AN END BY ANY 
EFFORTS OF OUR OWN, WHEN WE CAN ONLY ATTAIN 
IT BY FAVOR OF ANOTHER, .... 168 


CHAPTER IX. 

SHOWING THAT IN ORDER TO BE TRULY AND PERMA- 
NENTLY CHEERFUL UPON A JOURNEY, IT IS NOT 
ENOUGH TO PRESUME UPON A HAPPY ISSUE TO OUR 
UNDERTAKING AS PROBABLE : WE MUST ANTICIPATE 
IT AS CERTAIN, ELSE IT NEVER CAN INSPIRE A 
DURABLE JOY, 181 


CHAPTER X. 

SHOWING THAT HE WHO IS NOT WANTING IN FAITH, 
WILL NOT BE WANTING IN PRACTICE: ONE WHO 
POSSESSES AN UNWAVERING HOPE, POSSESSES ALSO 
A CONQUERING ENERGY, 190 


CHAPTER XI. 

SHOWING THAT THERE IS NO ONE EVER SO DISCON- 
TENTED, BUT BELIEVES THAT HE HAS GOOD CAUSE 
TO BE SO, 198 


CHAPTER XII. 

NOT ALL THE JOT ON THE ROAD IS THE TRUE JOT, 207 


CONTENTS 


XI 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IriROUGH FAITH IN THE FATHER’S WORD, WE ARE 
CAPABLE OF ENDURING THE HEAVIEST TRIALS ON 
ACCOUNT OF IT — WE RECEIVE FULL JOT AND HOPE 
AT OBTAINING THE INHERITANCE, . . . 224 


-ooj^^oo— — 


CHAPTER I. 

MT FRIEND JEROME, 243 


CHAPTER II. 

HOW MT FRIEND JEROME SHOWED ME SOMEBODT WHO 
WAS SEEKING FOR A FAR COUNTRT, . . . 251 


CHAPTER III. 

HEAVEN IS A FAR COUNTRT TO MANT TRAVELLERS — 
THE CAUSE UNFOLDED, 259 


CHAPTER IV. 

ONE MAT TAKE A LONG AND EXPENSIVE JOURNET 
TOWARDS A PAR COUNTRT, WITHOUT GETTING ANT 
NEARER TO IT, 271 


XII 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER V. 

CONFESSION WITHOUT PENITENCE, IS NOT SINCERE, 
AND LEADS TO NO GOOD RESULT, . . . 288 


C.HAPTER VI. 

NEWS FROM A FAR COUNTRY OP NO VALUE UNLESS 
GENUINE AND RELIABLE, 304 


CHAPTER VII. 

SIN ALWAYS LEADS TO SUFFERING, BUT NOT ALWAYS 
TO TRUE SORROW, 314 


CHAPTER VHI. 

THE DARKNESS WHCH PRECEDES THE DAWN OP DAY, 324 


CHAPTER IX. 

UNBELIEF KEEPS MANY TRAVELLERS FROM REACHING 
THE FAR COUNTRY, 334 


CHAPTER X. 

GOOD NEWS BELIEVED, GIVES HEALTH TO THE DYING, 348 






THE 


siaT<rET-RiN"a. 

Clapfir #nf.- 

GEGENBURG AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

The village of Gegenburg had always a 
peculiar charm for me ; and though it has 
long ceased to be the place of my abode, its 
memory is still sacred to my heart. Out- 
ward attractions it has none. It can boast 
neither of charming hills nor smiling val- 
leys. A barren heath, on which in summer 
an occasional field of grain looks scornfully 
down, surrounds irregular and scattered 
groups of cottages, whence for the most 


16 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


part no other sound is to be heard, from 
morning until night, than the monotonous 
clank of the unresting shuttle. The inhabi- 
tants were chiefly needy and uneducated 
mechanics, who, at least during the earlier 
portion of my stay among them, had but 
little knowledge of aught that can exalt 
and comfort soul and spirit. Cares they 
had in abundance, without the needful 
strength to bear them; ardent longings, 
but not for things invisible ; many hopes 
and fond desires, but not after those treas- 
ures which moth and rust do not corrupt. 
The current of their lives ran scarcely on a 
higher level than those of the brutes around 
them; both alike, the ox and his master, 
ate and drank and slept, and perhaps ex- 
changed their nightly shelter for the fair 
face of nature and the sunshine in the 
morning. 

The inquiring reader will doubtless here 
incline to ask two questions : — In the first 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


17 


place, wliat might be the cause of the mel- 
ancholy and lifeless condition of these poor 
people ? — and, in the second, how I can 
account for the fascination exercised upon 
me by so uninteresting a locality? My 
answer to the former is a brief one : these 
poor people had been long years without a 
pastor to point out to them a better future 
than that which is bounded by the grave ; 
and although their eyes were so acute that 
even by dim lamp-light they could detect 
the slightest variation in the finest threads 
upon their loom, they had no eyes to see 
that path of which our Bible tells us that it 
leads to Life. The other question must be 
replied to more at length and in detail ; 
and if my readers do not find it tedious to 
listen to me, they will learn from the fol- 
lowing pages that I have very sufficient rea- 
sons for looking back with pleasure to the 
period of my residence in Gegenburg. 


2* 


18 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


UNCLE CHRISTIAN AND THE SIGNET-RING -—WHY WE 
WENT TO GEGENBURG. 

My uncle Christian had been a preacher 
for many years in a rather populous coun- 
try town. It may be thought unbecoming 
to praise so near a relative ; but this at 
least I may say, that when on account of 
delicacy of lungs he was compelled, in the 
fiftieth year of his age, to give up his charge, 
all those who loved the Lord were deeply 
saddened by his departure from amongst 
them. He returned to his native place, 
and lived in the house of my parents on a 
small pension which had been allowed him. 
I was a boy of scarce twelve years at the 
time of his coming among us ; but I have 
still a lively recollection of the blessed day 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


19 


when that friend of God became an inmate 
of our home. A new sun appeared to arise 
within our quiet dwelling ; for we learned 
to be glad in the Lord, and to rejoice in 
the way of his testimonies more than in 
all riches. My mother, it is true, who was 
a frugal housewife, complained that her 
weekly expenses had been doubled since 
the coming of my uncle, and attributed the 
increase to a saying which was constantly 
upon his lips — “ Freely ye have received, 
freely give! ’’ — but my father, who was an 
accurate keeper of accounts, assured us 
solemnly on the last night of the year, 
that, by the blessing of God, liis gains had 
been double those of any preceding twelve 
months: we agreed, therefore, and that 
with the hearty concurrence of my mother, 
that at least during the year on which we 
were about to enter, our favorite precept 
should remain in force. 

My uncle continued for several years a 


20 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


member of our family circle. He devoted 
a portion of his time to my instruction in 
the Greek and Latin languages ; and when 
I was about to enter the University as a 
student of Theology, he gave me a signet- 
ring, which I still wear in memory of him. 
On the inside are inscribed these words, 
“ Freely ye have received ; ” and on the 
seal, around an engraving of the Good 
Samaritan, the sequel, — “Freely give!’’ 
“ Benjamin,” said he, pressing my hand, 
“be diligent, that you may receive mucky 
for it is to be had at a cheap rate ; and 
when you return, may the Lord grant that 
you may be found to have laid up an abun- 
dant store, and disposed to impart liberally 
to others of your abundance.” 

The house seemed desolate to my uncle 
after my departure. We had been accus- 
tomed to spend the entire day together ; 
but now his occupation was gone, and he 
found the time hang heavy on his hands. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


21 


He said one morning to my mother, Sis- 
ter, I see that I must not stay here any 
longer. Although the Lord’s gifts to me 
have indeed been free, he expects that I 
shall make him some return. My health is 
now so far reestablished, that I am quite 
able to be useful and active in a limited 
sphere ; and having heard lately that there 
is great need of a faithful laborer in the 
vineyard at Gegenburg, I mean to go 
thither ; and I will thank you to get my 
travelling-bag in readiness for the journey.” 

“ To Gegenburg ! ” exclaimed my mother, 
all aghast ; why, that is quite at the end 
of the world ! ” 

‘‘I have been told, on the contrary,” re- 
plied my uncle, smiling, that it is in the 
very middle of the world, and that I shall 
have enough to do to shift and thus improve 
its position.” 

“ But nobody has ever been found willing 
to remain there,” retorted my mother. 


22 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


“ All the more need of me, then : if every 
one were eager for the appointment, my 
services would not be required. According 
to my thinking, it is the lost that we must 
seek, not those who are already found.’’ 

When once my uncle had a purpose in 
his head, and set his heart upon it, it was 
useless to attempt dissuasion. In eight days 
after the occurrence of the conversation just 
related, he was resident in Gregenburg, 
where he had established himself at a mod- 
erate rate as an inmate with the schoolmas- 
ter of the place. I pursued my studies 
with diligence, meanwhile, and had the sat- 
isfaction to pass with credit my examination 
for license. I found it, however, much 
easier to apply for a situation than to obtain 
one. Possessing, as I humbly believed, 
every needful qualification, one little requi- 
site was wanting, and that was — a Call. 
My readers will scarcely expect that I 
should describe to them the anxious and 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


23 


trembling anticipation with which I looked 
forward to the receipt of some communica- 
tion from the Consistory ; but when I now 
look back, I clearly see the wise and loving 
dealing of the Lord in the disappointments 
I experienced during that period of proba- 
tion. 

One morning, when sitting by my win- 
dow, the postman handed me a large and 
important-looking letter. This was some- 
thing unusual ; and my heart beat violently. 
The letter, however, was not from the Con- 
sistory, but from my uncle. He informed 
me that his labor in Gegenburg had been 
greatly blessed in its beginnings, because he 
had had much opposition to contend with. 
Tliis because seemed to me a very strange 
one ; for I had not yet made the discov- 
ery, that the si;n cannot arise without put- 
ting thq plqpds in commotion on all sides. 
“ Since you have nothing to do, and I hope 
have received largely,’’ continued my uncle. 


24 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


‘‘ I entreat you to come to me. I have am- 
ple work for a fellow-soldier in the warfare 
of the Lord : I will give you bread to eat, 
raiment to put on,^ and a bed whereon to 
rest your weary limbs : more I cannot 
promise. If you still possess the signet- 
ring I gave you, read the inscription on it, 
and send me your reply without delay.’’ 

I folded the letter, looked at my signet- 
ring, and betook myself to my chamber. 
After about an hour’s consideration, I be- 
came fully convinced that the Apostle Paul 
in similar circumstances would have in- 
stantly resolved, and that it was according 
to the mind of God, that I should go to 
Gegenburg. The following day was Satur- 
day: I set out with my knapsack on my 
back, and in the evening was seated beside 
my dear uncle in his pleasant little room. 

“Welcome!” cried he, as he cordially 
grasped my hand ; “ if you are disposed for 
work, you will find here an ample field. 


1 Gen. xxviii. 20. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


25 


Our brother the schoolmaster will make a 
third in our alliance ; but he is the only 
confederate on whom we dare to reckon at 
the outset of our undertaking. After much 
trouble we have at length succeeded in 
securing a barn wherein to address the 
people. You are probably so wearied by 
your journey, that I suppose we must allow 
you to rest yourself to-morrow ; it would 
otherwise have been very becoming that 
you should have consecrated our new place 
of worship.’^ 


26 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


THE SINGULAR SERMON. 

On the following day my uncle occupied 
the pulpit in the barn, which had been 
fitted up as a church, and which was filled 
to the door with eager and curious listeners, 
for public preaching of the Word was some- 
thing new in Gegenburg. The text my 
uncle chose was, — ‘‘Freely ye have re- 
ceived! ’’ Many years have passed since I 
heard that sermon, yet almost every word 
of it is vividly imprinted on my memory at 
this day; and I cannot refrain from quoting 
here some passages, just to exhibit to my 
readers the manner of my uncle’s treatment 
of his text. After he had called the atten- 
tion of his hearers to the fact that God, our 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


27 


Heavenly Father, is the author of all the 
blessings which are daily given us to enjoy, 
he continued as follows : 

“ My friends ! let us enumerate the bless- 
ings we have received, and all for nought. 
Ah ! where shall I begin ? So soon as we 
were born, our mother’s milk was ready for 
us ; the cradle stood prepared, the swad- 
dling clothes in order, — all awaiting our ar- 
rival. Did we ourselves order these things 
to be in readiness ; or had we commissioned 
any one to purchase them on our account ? 
We found a mother to care for us during 
the period of our infancy ; a father to work 
for us ; a roof to shelter us ; time for play 
and childhood’s pleasures ; discipline, to 
train us for social duties; friends to love 
us, and to share our joy and sorrow. And 
what gifts did we bring with us, to present 
to the Giver of all Good in return for these 
blessings ? Tell me the sum of them ; have 
we done aught to show our gratitude ? Did 


28 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


the Lord make any bargain with us before 
he let his sun arise to shine upon our path ? 
Did he make a covenant with us before he 
filled our hearts with joy, our hungry 
mouths with food? Ah, no! His ways 
with us are altogether different: we live 
and breathe ; we eat and drink ; we sow 
and reap ; we receive and enjoy blessing 
upon blessing, benefit on benefit, from 
morning until night, from the cradle to 
the grave, and none can say, — Behold the 
price that I have paid for all this love and 
care ! 

“ I will go still further ; we have not 
only paid no price, but in return we have 
been guilty of base ingratitude, resistance, 
and rebellion ; for we live and enjoy, as if 
there were no Almighty Dispenser, as if 
the sun mmt shine upon us, and the rain 
refresh us. When our pleasant bread is 
eaten, and our cheering glass is empty, we 
wipe our mouths and go about our business. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


29 


— work till we are weary, laugh and leap, 
drink and are drunken, or give ourselves 
over to debauchery, brutal excess, and wan- 
tonness. Here we see a quarrel between 
man and wife ; children fighting yonder ; 
elsewhere one complains that a thief has 
carried off his sheep, a second that his coat, 
a third that his ox has been stolen ; before 
our children can articulate distinctly, we 
hear them using blasphemous, calumnious, 
and all kinds of unbecoming expressions. 
The parents meanwhile listen and find no 
fault, if, indeed, they do not praise their 
cleverness and wit ; and on the whole are 
perfectly content if they have but bread in 
their cupboard, and money in their purse, 
from which they can either help themselves 
at will, or accumulate until they find a 
convenient opportunity for taking what 
they call ‘a day of pleasure.’ We live as 
if there were no God in heaven, as if we 
feared no coming Judgment. Such is the 


30 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


return we make to the Giver of all Good 
for his unnumbered benefits and blessings, 
as if He must put up with our iniquity and 
foul dishonor ! It is the only price we offer 
Him for all his heavenly compassion; so 
that we not only receive his blessings freely, 
but are even heavy debtors, the amount of 
whose debt is higher than the highest hills 
of earth, and deeper than the unfathomable 
sea. 

“ When I try to consider the subject as 
an impartial observer in all its bearings, 
this question forces itself upon me, — ‘What 
can induce so great and glorious a Being 
to continue so unceasingly to shower down 
his benefits and blessings on our perverse 
and rebellious race ? ’ for who is there 
among ourselves who would retain an un- 
manageable horse, or a dog which had the 
habit of flying at his master’s throat? — 
would we not send the former to the sham- 
bles, and, having tied a stone to the neck 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


31 


of the latter, cast him into the deepest 
water in our neighborhood ? But the Lord 
our God deals not so with us ; He helps us, 
and giveth liberally ; He is long-suffering, 
and does not upbraid : and when I ask 
again, ‘What moves the Lord to such for- 
bearance ? ’ this answer is forced upon me : 
‘ He can have no other motive than his own 
infinite and wondrous love, as manifested 
in his Son Jesus Christ. Him he hath 
given as a propitiation for the sins of the 
world, and as an expiatory sacrifice for sin- 
ners of mankind, — in order that sin might 
be punished, the law be vindicated, and the 
righteousness of God be satisfied. Thus 
hath God’s grace obtained free course in 
blessing sinners, and redeeming those who 
had deserved eternal death, without his 
ceasing to be a God holy in all his ways 
and just in all his judgments. And now 
Christ hath brought down to earth, re- 
demption, resurrection, and eternal life, 


82 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


heaven and all heavenly blessings, earned 
painfully by his life, his sufferings, and 
his death, and offers them in free gift to 
poor lost sinners, without return, — of 
grace alone, in order that they may be 
kept throughout eternity, and live and not 
die. 

“In order to make known to you these 
glad tidings, the Lord hath sent his servant 
among you this day. Which of you has 
called me, — from whom have I received 
an invitation ? and yet here I am with my 
good news, with my message of love in the 
midst of you ! I bear the Word of God not 
only in my hand, but, by his grace, also in 
my heart, and therefore I am provided with 
all manner of good things, useful alike for 
this life, for the bed of death, and for eter- 
nity. Behold, I am a merchant sent from 
God; I have wine and milk, and all the 
mercies of David, and I cry, — ‘Ho, ye 
that thirst, come ye unto the waters of life. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


33 


and he that hath no money ; come ye, buy 
and eat ! ^ What, think you, is the price 
that I shall demand; how much do you 
think I shall expect for my costly wares ? 
Nothing ! and again I assure you, nothing ! 
Come, then, and buy, without money and 
without price ! 

“ Behold, all is freely at your service — 
freely ye receive the sunshine and the rain, 
your breath, and every blessing of this life. 
But what do they amount to, after all ? for 
what is your life ? it is even as a vapor ; 
and your days as a shadow that declineth. 
Higher, richer blessings still, await you, if 
you would but earnestly desire them ; and 
they too — oh, the depths of God’s compas- 
sion ! — are to be had for nothing ! That 
which you have not by nature, and which 
no creature can impart ; that which if you 
would not be forever lost you must obtain, 
is now with royal clemency and freely of- 
fered. You have no righteousness before 


34 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


God, and cannot be partakers of his glory, 
for your sins are red like scarlet, and your 
transgressions innumerable as the sand on 
the sea-shore : but oh ! could you only be 
brought to see and to confess this, were 
your hearts but touched with sorrow on 
account of it, a way of escape might speed- 
ily be found, the awful doom which threat- 
ens you might be averted. For here is 
Jesus ; here is perfect righteousness ; the 
forgiveness of every sin: and all is freely 
offered, if you will but earnestly desire it, 
and incline to accept it, believing in the 
truth and faithfulness of God. 

“ You have no God to occupy your 
hearts, no Redeemer to rejoice your souls, 
in whom you might find abiding joy and 
peace ; but you delight in creatures perish- 
ing as yourselves, and in working abomina- 
tion that leadeth to destruction. All the 
while your God stands near, offers himself 
to be your father, and to give you hearts of 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


35 


flesh which shall take pleasure in His ser- 
vice, in doing good, and in eschewing evil, 
going in and out before Him in righteous- 
ness and true holiness. Ask not ‘What 
must I do ? ’ only come to Him in humble 
faith, and all things freely and without 
money will be given to you. You have no 
radiant future to rejoice your hearts ; you 
tremble at the very thought of death, and 
are dismayed before the prospect of eter- 
nity. Behold a mighty hero, who has con- 
quered death, and brought life and immor- 
tality to light. All this he is willing to 
bestow on you, yea, to translate you even 
to-day to paradise, to bring you to heaven 
and make you rich in glory throughout a 
never-ending eternity. Say not, ‘ We have 
nothing to give, nothing to offer in ex- 
change for all these blessings ; ’ for freely 
you may obtain them all — all that you need 
for time and through eternity. For even 
as He freely gives to all of us the sun, the 


36 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


dew, and daily bread, God offers free salva- 
tion and eternal life to every one who turns 
to Him in faith, beseeching Him to help us 
in his own good time ! ” 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


37 


IT IS HARD TO GIVE FREELY, AND QUITE AS HARD TO 
RECEIVE FREELY. 

Such was tlie strain and manner of my 
uncle’s preaching ; and he must have ren- 
dered the meaning of the text as clear as is 
the sun in heaven, had his audience been 
possessed of the eyes to see and the ears to 
hear. But, alas ! the greater number were 
engaged in looking about them, or exchang- 
ing sneering glances with each other ; and 
with special indignation I remarked the icy 
cold expression upon many faces. It was 
evident that they had listened to the glad 
and loving message as if it had been a mere 
announcement by the Kirk-Session. The 
cold, unmoved expressions were the most 
intolerable,” said I to my uncle when we 


4 


38 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


reached home. “If any effect had been 
perceptible, had it been but one earnest 
look, or one tearful eye ; but so to preach, 
with absolutely no effect, were enough to 
make one turn upon one’s heel, and leave 
the place in indignation and despair.” 

“ Benjamin,” replied my uncle, smiling, 
“ our text was — ‘ Freely ye have received,^ 
and this was for the hearers ; the remain- 
der, ‘freely give^ is for the preacher. We 
owe it to the loving-kindness of the Lord, 
and it rejoices our hearts when he permits 
us to see the fruits of our labors. But, 
beloved, this is the exception, not the rule ; 
the rule is, — ‘ One soweth, and another 
reapeth.’ To run away, as you proposed, 
because we see no apparent fruit, would 
show but little disposition to give freely ^ 

I was silent, for I felt my uncle’s remon- 
strance was unanswerable. Ah! thought 
I, there lies a deep meaning in these two 
words, “ Give freely 1 ” deeper than at first 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


39 


I apprehended; and then, the practical 
application ! 

“ What ails you ? ” said my uncle, look- 
ing kindly ; “ you are deeply sunk in medi- 
tation.’’ 

‘‘ Freely to receive,” replied I, is easy 
enough,- but to give freely goes against the 
grain.” 

“ So you imagine,” said my uncle, “ but 
if you will consider the matter more care- 
fully, you will perceive that the one is as 
easy as the other. He who can do the first, 
can do the second also, — he does it indeed 
spontaneously. The reason why there are 
so few who give freely, lies in the simple 
fact that they have received so little.” 

“ But,” cried I, I thought that we re- 
ceived all things freely ; this was surely the 
burden, from beginning to end, of the ser- 
mon you have just been preaching.” 

“ True, all things are freely given ; but, 
alas ! the receivers seldom recognize the 


40 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


fact. This you might have read in the 
indifferent countenances of my hearers to- 
day; for if the miserable inhabitants of 
Gegenburg were actually brought to be- 
lieve and feel persuaded that all the joys 
of heaven are to be had for nothing, would 
they not leap for very gladness ? But it 
was plain from their unmoved expression 
that they had attained no such belief ; and 
this is very easily accounted for. Man 
judges his Creator according to the meas- 
ure of his own poor judgment ; and seeing 
that he always expects a return for every 
gift, he cannot believe that it is otherwise 
with God; the idea therefore grows with 
him, until it becomes a portion of his being, 
that he must make a very heavy payment 
to entitle him to hope for heaven ; and 
when from time to time he is visited with 
the terrors of death and damnation, the 
first question that rises to his lips is that 
of the youth of great possessions in the gos- 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


41 


pel, — ^ What must I do to inherit eternal 
life ? ’ He is continually haunted by the 
impression that doing must precede receiv- 
ing ; and the preacher may proclaim that 
the blessings of the gospel are bestowed 
freely, without money and without price, — 
pointing the while to God’s own testimony, 
and to signs and wonders, to convince that 
his announcement is no empty sound, and 
truly and sincerely meant, — but all in vain ! 
The hearts of men are closed even against 
the evidence of their senses. They more 
willingly believe themselves, and the testi- 
mony of their own deceitful hearts, which 
cry, ‘ Work, work ! God gives nothing for 
nothing ! ’ It were indeed hopeless to ex- 
pect that they will ever believe and ac- 
knowledge the truth of God’s promises, but 
that He is greater than our hearts, and that 
his Word is a hammer which breaks the 
flinty rock in pieces.” 

“ But,” said I, ‘‘ this system of doing is 


4* 


42 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


not surely altogether to be contemned ; it 
cannot certainly be a part of God’s plan 
that we should forever be nourished by his 
grace, without return of service. Sanctifica- 
tion assuredly constitutes an important sec- 
tion, with many subdivisions, in the scheme 
of Theology.” 

“ And not alone of Theology,” continued 
my uncle, “ also, in an especial manner, of 
our daily life ; but acceptable doing is a 
gift^ a giving of the whole heart, and mind, 
and understanding, soul and body, to our 
great Creator and Preserver. God wills, 
however, that the gift shall be a free one, 
and not as a means to purchase our salva- 
tion. Therefore it is, you will perceive, 
that salvation must first be freely received, 
in order that our doing may follow as a 
free, and fresh, and joyfully spontaneous 
consequence. The intercourse of men 
among themselves is regulated by very 
different principles. As buyers and sellers. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


43 


they liave accounts to balance, the terms 
of sale and purchase to determine ; misun- 
derstandings arise ; irreconcilable differ- 
ences of opinion ; often harsh and mutual 
recrimination. The intercourse between 
kings and their subjects, fathers and their 
children, is of a different nature. God is 
a royal parent ; He gives us royal treasures, 
and desires us on our part also ‘ to give 
royally, to freely 

Thus reasoned my uncle ; and, making a 
note of his argument in my memory, I be- 
gan to perceive why it is that gratuitous re- 
ceipt must precede gratuitous expenditure. 

The next day, I preached. I took from 
my desk my very best discourse, a most 
elaborate performance, which on the first 
occasion of its delivery had been honored by 
the unqualified approval of my Professor. 
My manner was most animated ; but, alas ! 
my animation called forth no expression of 
responsive interest. I did not complain at 


44 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


home of this indifference ; for it would 
indeed have seemed presumptuous that I 
should expect peculiar approbation where 
it had been denied to my uncle; but I 
must confess it was not a little disappoint- 
ing to me, that he himself uttered not one 
word with reference to my discourse — not 
even that he had listened to it with pleas- 
ure. The feehng unstrung me for the re- 
mainder of the day; I kept silence, and 
passed in mental review successively each 
section of my discourse, in order to detect 
the portion which had displeased my uncle. 

“You are very quiet to-day,’’ said he, as 
we sat at supper ; “ not unwell, I hope ? ” 

I could no longer keep my secret ; after 
some circumlocution, I confessed my disap- 
pointment. 

“ This is what I expected,” said he, as he 
kindly took my hand in his. “ It does seem 
very hard thus to give without return — 
does it not? You labored this morning 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


45 


with painful effort on behalf of your hear- 
ers, without return in money, or other ma- 
terial requital. So far well ; you wanted 
neither their money nor their bread ; you 
sought not theirs, but them. You had ex- 
pected, however, somewhat for your labor ; 
and to elicit no single token of approval is 
certainly a shabby recompense.’’ 

Even a smile,” continued I, in embar- 
rassment, ‘‘ would have been encouraging.” 

“ Nay, you had it surely in your power to 
command the encouragement of a smile.” 

“ How so ? ” inquired I, with eagerness, 
and, I must honestly confess, undoubtingly 
expecting now to hear a flattering enco- 
mium on my discourse. 

‘‘ If you are conscious,” replied my uncle, 
“ that you were zealous in the service of 
your Great Master, you may assure your- 
self of the encouraging smile of his counte- 
nance.” 

“ Oh, certainly ! ” replied I, but without 


46 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


enthusiasm; “we cannot expect, however, 
to see much of that encouragement so long 
as we are in the flesh.’’ 

“ That is true ; the face of the Lord, and 
his approving glances are visible by the 
spiritual eye alone; but still you believe 
that the Lord has set the seal of his ap- 
proval on your work of this morning ? ” 

“Yes, certainly,” replied I, with some 
hesitation. 

“ Why then are you not content ? What 
does he need more who has such testi- 
mony ? ” 

I was silent, for I knew not how to reply. 

“ Benjamin,” said my uncle, kindly, “ I 
doubt much whether, after all, you are cer- 
tain of the Lord’s approval. Be frank and 
honest with me ; whether, during your ad- 
dress, did you think more of the Lord or of 
yourself ; of your own reputation or of the 
spiritual wants of your hearers ? ” 

I was still silent, for I felt the painful 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


47 


application of my uncle’s remarks to my 
still wounded feelings. 

“Here,” continued he, “lies the un- 
doubted root of the evil ; you have been 
laboring rather in your own service than in 
the service of the Lord. You have studied, 
you have done your very best to produce 
a masterly discourse ; you have used your 
utmost efforts to deliver it effectively. You 
have labored in your own strength to ac- 
quire these means of working upon others ; 
possessions thus attained are not willingly 
imparted to our neighbors without the pros- 
pect of an adequate return ; but that which 
has been bestowed on us without a price, 
we do not grudge to give as freely to those 
around us.” 

“ It is indeed true that I have labored 
diligently in the cultivation and improve- 
ment of my talents,” said I, willing to vin- 
dicate my feeling of wounded self-love. 
“ How many of my fellow-students have 


48 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


misspent their time, and wasted their 
strength in folly ! ” 

And that you have not done ! Well, 
I rejoice that it is so ; but if credit be due, 
to whom shall it be given ? to you, who have 
been so hedged in and preserved from wan- 
dering, and falling into sin? or to God, 
who in his mercy has restrained you ? Was 
it the voice of natural conscience speaking 
to a purer heart that kept you ? or God, 
who so wrought upon and kept alive the 
spirit of diligence and conscientiousness 
which He had placed within you, that you 
were inclined to do with your might what- 
soever your hand found to do ? 

Of course I had no reply to make to ques- 
tions such as these. I looked upon the 
ground, and my eyes filled with tears. 

‘‘ My dear friend,” continued my uncle, 
“ you must attain to a still fuller belief that 
you have received all things freely. You 
are not yet sufficiently indoctrinated in this 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


49 


important chapter of Theology. Did you 
but stand in the midst of your fellow-crea- 
tures, astounded and rejoicing that the 
Lord has so richly blessed you, and en- 
dowed you with all manner of gifts and 
acquirements, — oh! then would you gladly 
share them with the poor beggars around 
you, laying at the same time your hand 
upon their mouths, and rejecting their 
acknowledgments, saying — ‘ Hold your 
peace ! they are not mine ; I have but re- 
ceived these gifts in order that I may dis- 
tribute them to others.’ This is the mean- 
ing of the word — ‘ Let your light so shine 
before men that they may see (not you, but) 
your good works, and glorify (not you, but) 
your Father which is in heaven.’” 

Thus spoke my uncle, and though the 
medicine of his speech was not grateful to 
the flesh, yet I must admit that I felt it to 
be wholesome medicine notwithstanding, 
and admirably suited for my case. 

5 


50 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


PASTORAL VISITING — ROUND-ABOUT WAY OF DOING 
GOOD — ONE IMPARTS TO OTHERS ONLY WHAT HE 
HAS RECEIVED. 

The following day, Philip, our landlord, 
came into the room. 

“ Kelmann’s wife,’’ said he, “ has just 
brought her child to the school ; she seems 
to be a well-disposed person. She said that 
yesterday’s discourse had deeply affected her, 
and that she regretted that her husband had 
not heard it also. She asked me whether 
I thought the minister would be so kind as 
visit him, and take the opportunity of say- 
ing a good word to him.” 

‘‘ Is not that the woman who walks with 
a crutch ? ” inquired my uncle. 

“ The same.” 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


51 


‘‘ I remarked her yesterday in church, 
listening as intently as if the preacher had 
been almost out of hearing.’’ 

“Very likely,” said the schoolmaster; 
“ and I do not think a single word of the 
discourse had escaped her, for she repeated 
to me, almost word for word, those portions 
of it which had particularly struck her.” 

My uncle took a sidelong glance at me, 
and I cast my eyes on the ground. 

“ There, now,” said he at length, “ you 
have got work already ; you must go im- 
mediately and visit Kelmann.” 

In the afternoon I went to the home of 
the weaver, and found him busy at his 
work. His wife was not in the house, 
which was very poorly furnished, but clean 
and neat. I thought it as well not to tell 
him that it was by her desire that I had 
come. In himself I could discern no long- 
ing or inclination towards spiritual things. 
So soon as he had returned my salutation, 


52 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


he proceeded with his work, and allowed me 
to look on in silence. I stood for about ten 
minutes listening to the monotonous clank 
of the shuttle, with my eyes fixed upon the 
web. The weaver, meanwhile, maintained 
unbroken silence, apparently unconscious 
of my presence. I felt at length that I 
must speak, as that was the purpose for 
which I had come, and asked him various 
questions relating to his work, to which he 
gave the most laconic answers. He stopped 
while he was speaking, but so soon as he 
uttered his few words, the tiresome clank 
once more commenced. “ Help, Heaven!” 
sighed I, “ how shall I ever be able to begin 
a serious conversation with such a man as 
this?” At length I said, ‘‘In the Bible 
there are very early notices of spinning and 
weaving ! ” 

“Ah, indeed, sir!” — Click clack, click 
clack, went the shuttle. 

“ Yes,” continued I, biting my lips, “ in 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


53 


Damascus it was even brought to great per- 
fection.” 

Indeed, sir ! we are but simple people 
here, and do only very ordinary work.” 

The weaver was evidently a hopeless sub- 
ject. I inquired for his wife. He told me 
she was in the stable with the cows ; on 
which I took occasion to introduce the cows 
of Abraham and Pharaoh, hoping thereby 
to gain a footing with him upon Scripture 
ground. But in vain ; he knew as little of 
Abraham as he had done of Damascus, and 
seemed to take about as much interest in 
either as he did in the dust which from 
time to time he blew from the linen he was 
weaving. 

I came home out of humor. My uncle, 
on returning from his walk, found me 
moodily resting my head upon my hands. 

I gave him a faithful and detailed ac- 
count of my conversation with the weaver ; 
and told him how I had even introduced 

5 * 


54 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


the COWS of Pharaoh and the linen of Da- 
mascus, in order to bring him, in spite of 
himself, to speak on Scriptural subjects. 
My uncle listened patiently to my narra- 
tive, then passed his hand over his face and 
smiled. 

“ You spared yourself no trouble, then, 
to show this man the way to heaven ? ’’ 

“ Such at least was my aim throughout 
our interview.’’ 

‘‘You could not have proposed to your- 
self a better one. But I cannot refrain 
from offering one observation.” 

“And that is” — 

“That, according to my thinking, you 
took a very round-about way to reach the 
point you aimed at.” 

“ How so ? ” asked I, astonished. 

“ Why, there is surely a nearer road to 
heaven than by Egypt and Damascus. The 
Lord J esus says — ‘ J am the way."* I believe 
you would have been more likely to attain 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO.' 


55 


your object, had you pointed our friend to 
Him.’’ 

“ Such was also my intention ; but I 
found it impossible to bring him so far 
along with me.” 

“ No wonder, setting out as you did from 
Damascus ; you know as well as I do that 
the journey thence to Jerusalem is a con- 
siderable one. But, tell me, dear friend, 
have you received no nobler, worthier gift 
from God than the webs of Syria or the 
cows of Egypt ? I am convinced that you 
rejoice in and rest your hopes upon far 
richer possessions than these ! ” 

Doubtless,” replied I. “ In Christ are 
hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowl- 
edge.” 

‘^Do you indeed possess these treasures?” 
asked my uncle, seriously. “ Have you been 
made an heir of the treasures which are in 
heaven ? Are you rich in that hope which 
maketh not ashamed?” 


56 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


I understood the meaning of the venera- 
ble old man. He had already frequently 
impressed on me the fact, that riches consist 
not in wishing, desiring, longing for an 
object, hut in the possession of the thing 
desired. “No man,” said he often to me, 
“can handle faithfully the truth of God, 
who doth not savingly know it, whom it 
hath not made free. Men may say they are 
desirous of knowledge, but unless they use 
the means, they will never attain wisdom ; 
for it is not the desire of knowledge, but 
its possession, which alone will make them 
wise ; and therefore the humblest Christian 
far excels the profoundest philosophers of 
Athens, through Christ, who is made of 
God unto him wisdom, and righteousness, 
sanctification, and redemption. Of course 
I do not mean such Christians — who scarce 
indeed deserve the name — as have got no 
farther than to vague desires after Christ. 
Such are but would-be Christians. The 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


57 


Christian — whether he be an accredited 
teacher or no — who is only in a position 
to tell his hearers that he 8eek8 the truth, 
will never bring them far upon the way 
to it : for how can a man offer to another 
that which he is still seeking for him- 
self? A dog can spring no farther than 
his chain permits : he who proposes to 
sell oil to his neighbors must have a 
stock on hand ; otherwise he will soon be 
discovered to be an impostor. He who 
sets out to carry glad tidings to his neigh- 
bor without having received them into his 
own heart as such, will announce them 
as coldly as he would a medical prescrip- 
tion : and even therefore the poor fish- 
ermen of Galilee were more persuasive 
than the teachers and wise men of Israel ; 
for while the latter announced a Christ 
still to be sought, they proclaimed a Clirist 
whom they had found, and were rejoicing 


58 


THE SIGNET-EING AND 


My uncle often spoke to me after this 
fashion: I had no difficulty, therefore, in 
understanding the meaning of his ques- 
tions ; and although I could easily have 
given him a decided answer, what good 
would it have done me to assure him of 
my riches, while myself painfully conscious 
of my poverty? I was well aware of his 
superior attainments, although my reputa- 
tion at the University had been far more 
brilliant. 

“ Benjamin,” said he, as I hesitated to 
reply, “you have done but little for the 
poor weaver: the webs of Syria and the 
cows of Egypt will not he of much use to 
him. But do you know why you have 
given him so little? Because you have 
yourself received so little. He who has 
received much, gives liberally. If you had 
the Lord Jesus dwelling in your heart, 
you would have offered the same heavenly 
tenant to the poor weaver.” 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


59 


! would indeed that I had Him! ” 
I earnestly exclaimed. 

“ That I do not doubt,” continued my 
uncle ; “ but one thing is lacking in you, 
— you would rather not receive him as a 
free gift, and this is the only way in which 
the Saviour ever is bestowed. He is a gift 
of God, and to be had on no other terms. 
John the Baptist preached of Jesus in the 
wilderness, and said, ‘ every valley shall be 
filled f but where there is a mountain, my 
friend, it must be brought low, and become 
a valley, before that peace of God, which 
is like a river, can flow into it, — that 
unspeakable gift, which is better than all 
the linen of Damascus, or the choicest of 
the royal Pharaoh’s cattle.” 

After this conversation with my uncle, I 
remained for a long time silent and thought- 
ful. “The mountain must become a val- 
ley 1 ” — these words sounded constantly 
in my ears. I felt painfully conscious of 


60 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


the infinitely superior spiritual attainments 
of my uncle ; and that, beside his labors, 
my attempts at evangelism were but as 
the fitful droppings of the eaves, beside 
the clear, pellucid flowing of a perennial 
stream. My heart strove stubbornly and 
impatiently against the friendly prickles; 
but I felt, notwithstanding, that with all 
my wisdom and learning, I must become 
a child, a beggar — and as such receive the 
gift of God. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


61 


ANGET EEBUKE KEPELS HEARTS THAT KIND WORDS 
MIGHT HAVE WON. 

I SHALL not fatigue my readers by de- 
scribing the inward trials and contests I 
endured and waged during my lonely 
walks, and within my silent chamber. My 
former notion, that it was an easy matter 
to receive freely, was given to the winds. 
I saw plainly that I had not yet received 
anything as a free gift ; and that all which 
I possessed I had considered amply paid 
for: but to collect all these vain possessions, 
and make a bonfire of them in the market- 
place, I had neither the strength, nor indeed 
the inclination. 

I was often nearly losing heart alto- 
gether. The bloom and fragrance of my 
6 


62 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


life seemed gone, all the powerful and 
constraining springs and motives of my 
thought and action were becoming dead- 
ened. And when at times tliey appeared 
to be reviving into former vigor, an unac- 
countable misgiving seemed to weigh them 
down. I heard a voice continually saying 
to me, “Thou shalt not! thou shalt not!’’ 
while beside me stood my uncle, fresh and 
joyous, with these words legibly engraven 
on his forehead, as on stone — “ I can do all 
things through Christ which strengtheneth 
me.” 

My uncle would encourage me now and 
then ; and under the influence of his kindly 
smile, my heart was carried captive. I 
continued to labor along with him in the 
vineyard of the Lord; rather, however, 
leaning on his arm, than walking joyfully 
by his side. 

I paid a visit one day to the farrier. The 
man received me in the most friendly man- 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


63 


ner, taking off his apron on my entrance, 
and inviting me into the sitting-room, where 
his wife was engaged in some domestic 
work. He offered me a pipe. While at 
first we were talking on ordinary subjects, I 
remarked that he very often took the name 
of God in vain. I felt greatly shocked at 
this; for, since leaving the University, I had 
myself entirely laid aside the evil habit. 
Anxious, moreover, to engage the man’s 
attention upon subjects of higher consid- 
eration than the every-day concerns of life, 
I laid down my pipe, and with uplifted, 
warning finger, began to lecture him seri- 
ously and solemnly on the sin and danger 
of the God-dishonoring practice of swearing. 
The smith listened with evident indigna- 
tion ; his wife blushed up to the ears ; and 
he soon got into such a passion that his 
eyes shot fire. 

“ Reverend Sir,” said he, in great excite- 
ment, I believe I am old enough, and of 


64 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


sufficient understanding, to know what I 
ought to say, and to leave unsaid. This is 
a custom I have had from childhood, and 
which gives me little thought; I do not 
intend thereby either to dishonor or to 
offend the Lord; the word, in fact, passes 
my lips before I am aware.” 

“ That may be,” replied I, with fevered 
zeal, “ but do you not know that we have 
to do with an Almighty God, whose very 
name is thrice holy, and who will not be 
mocked ? ” 

Mocked ! ” exclaimed the smith, striking 
the table with clenched fist. “ Do you take 
me for a mocker ? I have as much rever- 
ence for God as you have, although I may 
not make so long a face about it.” 

“ No, indeed,” added the wife ; “ my 
husband may be what else you will, but 
a mocker he is not, and you must not 
think him so. We have always been hon- 
est people, and pay every man his own ! ” 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


65 


True,” continued he ; “ and if a man 
does let fall a hasty word occasionally, he 
need not be so severely reckoned with, if in 
the main he be honest and respectable.” 

‘‘What!” cried I, indignantly, “ that is 
your opinion ? then I assure you that your 
eyes will tell another tale at the day of 
Judgment. You will learn that ‘ our God 
is a consuming fire,’ that your righteousness 
will burn like chaff, for His wrath shall 
flame forth ” 

“ Flames and fire ! ” roared the smith ; 
“ I am content with those in my workshop. 
I know not whether I am such a fagot as 
you would make me out ; but this I do 
know, that it is highly unbecoming in so 
young a man thus to fall foul of older 
and more sensible people than himself, on 
account of a few hasty words, and to make 
as long a face the while, as if you had been 
blowing the bellows in my workshop for a 
day at least. If you have no more agree- 
6 !^ 


66 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


able message to bring than this, — the 
carpenter has left a passage for yon, and 
the sooner you go through it the better, 
if you were a thousand times a minister!’’ 

“ I shall not be long of doing that,” said 
I, highly offended ; “ and I shake the dust 
off my feet as a testimony against you ; but 
rest assured that God will soon find you 
out, and teach you what it is to fight 
against Him 1 ” 

With these words I seized my hat and 
hurried out at the door, which the wife 
shut with a bang behind me. I immedi- 
ately sought out my uncle, that I might 
relieve my over-burdened heart. When I 
had concluded my narrative, he looked 
straight before him, without saying a word. 
This silence pained me terribly. 

‘‘ Tell me, I pray you, do you not con- 
sider such treatment heathenish and shame- 
ful ? ” 

Assuredly,” said he, casting one of his 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


67 


serious glances on me ; “ but I tliink it will 
be better that we should resume this subject 
by and by. You might not be able to bear 
it just now.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Because you are still so wearied with 
your work that you should first rest your- 
self.” 

With these words my uncle took his 
stick, and, ere I could stop him, he had 
left the room.” 

“Wearied!” repeated I to myself, for 
upon that word my uncle had laid peculiar 
emphasis ; and I felt that he was right, for 
I sank, worn out and sad, upon a chair. 
By degrees I regained my tranquillity, and 
began to reflect seriously upon God’s deal- 
ings with me in the recent interview. “ You 

o 

might certainly have made a better begin- 
ning,” said I to myself ; “ your onslaught 
was rather too precipitate. The man was 
scarcely prepared for such a sudden attack. 


68 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


He deserved, however, to be rebuked for 
his sin ; and he is so rough and uncivilized, 
such a hard mass, that it would take many 
a blow of the hammer to make even a 
slight impression on him.’’ There I sat, 
still absorbed in thought, when my uncle 
returned from his walk. He seated him- 
self on an opposite chair, looked at me 
kindly, and said : 

“Now you seem rather more composed ; 
the sweat has dried upon your brow, and 
your cheek is less flushed than when I left 
you.” 

I did not answer ; for I knew not what 
reply to make. I scarcely knew how I 
felt. My uncle could not doubt that I 
had been zealous for the glory of God’s 
name ; but there was something in his 
words that irritated me, and I said at 
length : 

“ My discomposure must have attracted 
your peculiar attention, my dear uncle.” 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


69 


It did, indeed,’’ replied he, in a serious 
tone ; “I always feel compassion for those 
who work so hard that they eat their bread 
in the sweat of their brow. They remind 
me that it was otherwise in the garden of 
Eden. It is only since man fell from his 
allegiance to God, and has tried to work 
independently of him, that his labor has 
become so grievous. All work is easy when 
we have God as our helper ; but it is in 
such circumstances alone that we are told, 
‘ Ye shall run and not be weary, ye shall 
walk and not faint!”’ 

Now, indeed, ‘‘ the pointed things” were 
as sharp as arrows to me. I became much 
annoyed. 

“ What I ” exclaimed I, do you think 
that I was not working for the Lord?” 

“ I willingly believe,” replied my uncle, 
kindly, “ that you were working for the 
Lord ; but whether you were a fellow- 
worker with the Lord, is quite another 


70 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


question. Tell me, have you never been 
guilty of the sin for which you very properly 
rebuked the smith?” 

“ Yes, alas ! ” said I ; “it was hut lately 
that I confessed it to yourself.” 

“ And who released you from the wicked 
custom ? ” 

“ It was the Lord that released me,” 
replied I, much moved. “ One day when I 
was recounting the great and numerous 
benefits which a glorious and holy God 
was daily showering down upon me, I was 
brought to feel my vile ingratitude in 
taking his blessed name in vain. Since 
then I have been enabled entirely to lay 
aside the wicked habit ; and I thank Him 
for giving me grace to do so.” 

“ And with good reason ; for it is a bless- 
ing He has conferred on you in preference 
to many others. But it was, like all his 
blessings, freely conferred ; and if you had 
bethought yourself of this, you would 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


71 


surely have offered it freely also to the 
smith.’’ 

“Which I certainly desired to do!” said 
I, impatiently. “ Did I ask anything of 
him in return?” 

“ I think you did ; and a great deal, too. 
You demanded instant conversion, a deep 
sense of guilt, fear and trembling, and 
spared neither the thunders of the law 
nor the lightnings of eternal damnation, 
to reduce him to the required condition. 
Did the Lord deal thus with you^ when he 
awakened you to a sense of the same trans- 
gression? Did he threaten you at once 
with death and hell, eternal vengeance and 
damnation ? Did he visit you with horror, 
trembling, and despair, before he led you 
into the right way ? Ah, no ! He spoke 
to you of his wondrous grace and truth, and 
quenched your opposition by the prevailing 
might of his love. Why did you not go 
and do likewise to your fellow-sinner ? 


72 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


“ Benjamin,’^ continued mj uncle, after 
a short pause, ‘‘ the law was given by Moses, 
but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ. 
He came to preach the acceptable year of 
the Lord ; and this it is that makes that 
year thus acceptable, that although the 
Lord might well demand a heavy price for 
all his benefits, he freely gives them in con- 
sideration of the merit of his Son. We 
know the terrors of the Lord, but we have 
no calling to proclaim them. The day of 
wrath and vengeance will assuredly dawn 
on the ungodly ; but not to-day ! This is 
the day of grace^ in which the long-suffering 
of God gives opportunity to the sinner to 
flee to the refuge, ere the terrible day of 
wrath arrive. See, therefore, that you do 
not turn this day of grace into one of fierce 
indignation ; deal not in anger unto others 
what has been bestowed in love upon your- 
self. That which by hard labor we have 
earned, we are wont to deal out sparingly 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


73 


and with unwilling hand ; while that which 
we have freely received, we gladly share 
with those around us. You ought to have 
held out free pardon to the smith, and 
to have offered it to him kindly, gently, 
liberally, and without upbraiding, — even 
as God Tipbraideth no man, — in meek- 
ness instructing those that oppose them- 
selves.’’ 

“ And yet,” said I, “ we read that the 
Lord looked with anger upon sinners.” 

“ True,” rejoined my uncle, “ heing 
grieved for the hardness of their hearts^ ^ 
There are sinners who remain so icy-cold 
under the manifestation of Divine love, that 
grace itself is wearied into indignation. 
He who, in defiance of his conscience, calls 
the work of God a work of Satan, is assur- 
edly perfect in wickedness. Not to feel 
indignant against such an one, were weak- 
ness, and even to become partaker in his 

1 Mark iii. 5. 

7 


74 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


sin. But to transgress from thoughtless 
levity and from force of habit, is a differ- 
ent thing; and the exhibition of Chris- 
tian sympathy with a fellow-sinner ought 
surely in such a case to precede the 
threatening with the eternal wrath of 
God. To use compulsive force, is merely 
human ; to try to work upon the spirit, is 
to imitate the Deity. The Spirit of God 
is a gentle, living, loving, and prevailing 
breath, which softens and dissolves what 
could not be affected by mere human 
strength without destruction and dismem- 
berment of every joint and fibre. When 
man is working for reward, he labors in 
the sweat of his brow, because the Spirit 
ever withdraws at the sight of the fleshly 
sword. But so soon as he begins to work 
for love, the Spirit flows through every vein 
and muscle, and he becomes animated by 
the Spirit of grace, who gives without 
condition or upbraiding.’’ 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


75 


Tims spoke my uncle Christian ; and I 
treasured his speech in my memory ; for I 
felt it would be well for me to remember 
it, and never to let it be forgotten. 


76 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


A LITTLE FIRE KINDLETH A GREAT MATTER — IT IS 

HARD TO RETRACE A WRONG PATH WITH REPEN- 
TANCE AND CONFESSION. 

Meanwhile, this report of my interview 
with the smith made a great noise in the 
village. The whole population were angry 
and excited ; and even the children brought 
sparks from the fire which had been kindled 
by their elders. The schoolmaster, our good 
friend Philip, suffered severely in connec- 
tion with it ; and the young people generally 
took evidently increased delight in cursing 
and swearing, and taking the name of God 
in vain. The friendly countenances which 
we had been wont to meet upon our walks 
now wholly disappeared, and visiting the 
cottages became altogether out of the ques- 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


77 


tion. If we ventured to knock at the door, 
we were immediately answered by a voice 
from the window, announcing that there 
was no one at home. I preached on Sunday 
to nearly empty benches ; and the few who 
did attend service, seemed rather to stare 
compassionately at the preacher than to 
listen devoutly to his discourse. The pub- 
lic-house, on the other hand, was fuller than 
ever; and as I returned in the evening 
from my walk, I never passed a group of 
children on the road, that they did not 
salute me with some species of imperti- 
nence. 

This state of matters lasted for many 
weeks. I became very impatient and 
downcast ; the more so that my uncle 
scarcely ever left his bed-chamber, and 
maintained a deep and torturing silence 
on the subject. I endeavored occasionally 
to engage him in conversation, bitterly 
lamenting the circumstances in which we 
7 * 


78 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


were placed, and the evil spirit by which 
the people seemed to be possessed. The 
only answer he ever gave was; “It cannot 
be otherwise, ‘ because the law worketh 
wrath.’” I perceived, however, that the 
old man suffered bitterly; and at length 
discovered the nature of his occupation in 
his solitary chamber, when one day he said 
to me: “Benjamin, much prayer will be 
necessary to set this affair to rights.” I 
felt the force of the remark, and had, 
indeed, myself prayed frequently for an 
alteration in our circumstances. But my 
prayers were of no avail ; and no wonder, 
seeing that I prayed for a change in the 
hearts of the adversaries, forgetting the 
renewal which was equally necessary in 
my own. The law had assuredly worked 
wrath in me also. In order to pray aright, 
we need not the spirit of the law, but the 
spirit of grace ; for the spirit of grace is 
also the spirit of supplication. 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


79 


My burden became at length unbearable. 
I went one evening to my uncle in his own 
apartment, and seating myself in his easy- 
chair, I said : “I suspect, dearest uncle, 
that you and I need stay no longer here ! ” 

“ Why ? what do you mean ? ” replied 
he. 

‘‘ I mean that these people plainly show 
they do not want us ; and why should we 
put off our time to no purpose? Let us 
take our staves in our hands, and, leaving 
Gegenburg, shake the dust from off our 
feet as a testimony against them.’’ 

“ I fear,” said my uncle, folding his 
iiands, and looking at me sadly, ‘‘ that the 
dust would rather bear testimony against 
us than against them. Had we presented 
the gospel freely at their doors, we had 
been guiltless of their blood if they had 
rejected it; but, instead of this, we tried 
to sell the law to them at a high price, and 
that they would have none of it is no 


80 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


wonder. As for me, I shall certainly re- 
main here, were it even to my dying day ; 
and I shall not cease to pray for this people ; 
for we have certainly dealt foolisldy with 
them.’’ 

I was overcome. That we went to my 
heart. It showed the greatness of his love, 
that he was willing to share the blame 
along with me. My stubborn self-conceit 
was broken down. My beloved uncle,” 
said I, ‘‘ do you think it is in my power 
still to do something to atone for this 
folly ? ” I said this folly ; my lips would 
not as yet give utterance to the feelings 
of my heart, which told me it was mine 
alone. 

“Benjamin,” answered he, kindly, “with 
what longing have I waited for this ques- 
tion ! Had you asked it sooner you would 
have saved me much grief. I have, indeed, 
heard many a complaint of the obduracy 
of the Gegenburghers ; but what avail com- 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


81 


plaints ? The grand question here is, — 
what is now to be done ? — and I thank 
God that at length you ask it.” 

I deeply felt the justice of this reproof. 
“ Dear uncle,” said I, “ I hope it is not yet 
too late ; what do you think it is still in my 
power to do ?” 

My son,” replied he, when we feel 
ourselves to blame, our first duty is to 
confess our fault ; the second will assuredly 
follow.” 

And what is the second ? ” inquired I. 

“ It will discover itself in the perform- 
ance of the first — the duty of reconcilia- 
tion.” 

‘‘ Dear uncle,” cried I, the first shall 
immediately be performed, — I am indeed 
guilty ; I have acted imprudently and 
foolishly in my untimely zeal.” 

But,” continued my uncle, “ is it to me 
you should confess your guilt ? You have 
not offended me I 


82 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


All, true ! it is the Lord before whom I 
must cast myself in the dust.” 

“ Undoubtedly ; but after him there is 
another to whom you should confess your 
fault, before you can expect its effect upon 
him to be remedied.” 

“ What ! ” cried I, in much excitement, 
“to the smith?” 

“Yes, to the smith. You must go to 
him and show him that the God you serve 
is not a God who always frowns. You 
have given rise to a misconception, that the 
Spirit of Christ is a spirit of bondage and 
of slavish fear. You must go to him and 
tell him that you have dealt foolishly, but 
that He is a God of Love, of long-suffering 
and forgiveness. You have hitherto exhib- 
ited a spirit of exaltation and high-minded- 
ness ; go and tell him that the Spirit of 
Christ is one of meekness and submission. 
Show him that you are no longer careful 
for your own honor, and no longer seek 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


83 


your own ; but are prepared to offer all 
God’s blessings freely, without money and 
without price ! ” 

I was dumb. My uncle’s words cut deep 
into my soul. I passed a sleepless night. 
I fought a hard fight ; day began to dawn 
upon me, and I had not attained the victory 
over myself. But the difficult way was to 
be made a plain path before me, as the 
reader shall presently perceive. 


84 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


THE TRUTH NEVER TO BE SACRIFICED FOR CONCILIA- 
TION. 

On the following day, Philip, the school- 
master, entered our apartment with an 
unusually joyous aspect. 

“Thank God!” said he, “the war at 
length is at an end, and peace about to be 
proclaimed. I met the smith this morning, 
and asked him if his anger were not yet 
appeased. He laughed, and said, ‘ I have 
been looking daily for the breaking out of 
that fire of vengeance which was threat- 
ened by the reverend gentleman.’ Then 
said I, in a conciliatory tone, ‘ You took it 
all too seriously ; the minister meant it 
only for your good. The fire of vengeance, 
terrible as it is, will not surely reach a 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


85 


worthy man like you. Your tongue is 
certainly rather too free at times, but in 
the main you are an honest fellow, and 
sound at heart. Come, give me your hand, 
and let bygones be bygones!’ Thereupon 
he stretched forth his hand, and said, — 
‘ Ah, now you sing to a very different tune, 
and much more pleasant to listen to ; here 
is my hand, to forget and forgive. God 
bless you ! ’ With that he went joyfully on 
his way, and I have made haste to bring 
you the good news.” 

The schoolmaster related with great de- 
light the history of this reconciliation ; but 
I will not attempt to describe the entire 
and instant change in his expression when 
he encountered my uncle’s eye. 

Philip,” said he, ‘‘ what spirit has put 
such wicked and pernicious thoughts into 
your head ? This last error is worse than 
the first.” 

“ I think,” said the schoolmaster, “ that 


8 


86 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


I was actuated by a spirit of love and recon- 
ciliation.” 

“ Is the Spirit of God a spirit of flattery 
and falsehood? Will the reckless swearer 
escape eternal wrath unless he be con- 
verted? Is it true he is sound at heart, 
while from morning till night he takes 
God’s holy name in vain ? Have you not 
been smoothing him down with sweet- 
sounding words, to purchase a peace which 
has its foundation not in God, but ui the 
flesh ? ” 

Still, we surely have a command to be 
reconciled to our neighbor.” 

“ Assuredly, but freely, and not for the 
sake of being repaid with* a smile and a 
cordial shake of the hand, as was the case 
with you on this occasion. You were anx- 
ious to be living once more in harmony 
with your fellow-men, and in order to 
achieve that end, made love, and love 
alone, the theme of your discourse; but 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


87 


should the righteousness of God he denied 
for such an object, and evil called good ? 
No ! that is not to give freely ; it is to 
squander and to trample upon spiritual 
gifts. He who would give liberally and 
without price, must give genuine articles, 
pure gold, otherwise he is a deceiver, and 
no deceiver gives without return. The 
free-giver tenders not false money, but 
clear-ringing metal, with the royal stamp, 
and would do so even at the risk of being 
crucified by the thankless receivers of his 
bounty. Your dealings in this matter have 
been even more imprudent than those of 
my nephew. He threw his money in the 
smith’s face, and you tried to palm on him 
a clumsy counterfeit.” 

The schoolmaster turned his eyes in con- 
fusion on the ground. He did not indeed 
deny the fundamental doctrines of the 
Christian faith, and I believe that he sin- 
cerely desired to serve the Lord. But he 


88 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


possessed great natural amiability, and was 
apt to content himself with too slight a 
healing of the wound, either of which tends 
to increase the difficulty of giving freely 
according to the spiritual sense of the in- 
junction. When, for instance, I perceive 
occasionally that my wife is too indulgent 
to our children, when they deserve not 
only to he reproved but to be severely pun- 
ished, I think giving in is the very opposite 
of giving freely. 

The worthy schoolmaster was condemned 
to eat with us the fruit of his unwise 
compliance. Even in the school-room was 
heard the song of triumph which resounded 
through the village. 

The reader will probably pause here, to 
ask in what manner the difficulties in my 
path were smoothed away. And I must 
confess that now our way appeared choked 
up with obstacles, and quite impassable. 
My uncle himself was of opinion that I 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


89 


should postpone for a time my purposed 
visit to the smith. But man’s extremity 
is indeed God’s opportunity ; and when all 
avenues of approach appeared to be closed, 
an unseen hand was preparing for us a sure 
and easy way of access. 

8 * 


90 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


SALUTARY LESSONS OF SICKNESS — RICH FRUITS OF 
GOSPEL LABOR. 

About a month after the conversation 
between the schoolmaster and the smith, 
our village was visited by a deadly fever. 
Scarcely one family escaped, and the mirth 
of the Gegenburghers was turned to mourn- 
ing. As the church-yard filled, the public- 
house was gradually emptied. One morn- 
ing the smith sent for me in haste ; he had 
been seized with the fever, and desired to 
speak to me. My heart, which had been 
deeply solemnized by the prevalence around J 
me of death, that stern preacher of the ; 

truth, had been deeply humbled before i 

God, and emptied of self-confidence. I ; 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


91 


received the message with thankfulness, 
and in a few minutes was seated by his 
sick-bed. 

“Dear sir,” said the poor fellow, “can 
you forgive my wickedness ? I treated you 
most shamefully ! ” 

“ Welker,” I answered, “ I on my part 
ought to ask your forgiveness. I told you 
indeed the truth, but I did not tell it to 
you in love. I ought to have spoken gently 
and kindly to you; instead of which I 
roused your indignation by severity.” 

“ Oh, do not speak so ! ” replied the sick 
man ; “I would only be assured that you 
forgive me.” 

“ Freely, and with all my heart,” said I. 

“ Ah, then I am content to die ! I would 
not willingly have left the world with the 
sin upon my conscience, of having insulted 
a servant of the Lord.” 

“We, then,” said I, “ are reconciled.” 

“ Perfectly ; there is my hand upon it.” 


92 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


Now, my friend,” I continued, “ may I 
speak further with you ? ” 

‘‘Oh, the more the better.” 

“You believe you are going to die. Have 
you then reflected in whose presence you 
are about to appear ?” 

“ Yes ; I am about to appear before an 
Almighty God.” 

“ And is it then sufficient to secure your 
peace in such a prospect, that the difference 
which has arisen between you and me has 
been adjusted? Have you no sin upon 
your conscience that makes you dread to 
see the face of God ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” replied he, “ I have so often 
thought of that fire of which you spoke 
to me, and have made a mock at it ; but, 
yesterday, when I felt the pain of fever 
stealing through every limb, I said to my 
wife, ‘ Can this be the beginning of the fire 
of vengeance ? ’ ” 

“Well,” said I, “let us not speak just 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


93 


now of that awful fire. We know that the 
Lord will not be mocked, and that it is 
a fearful thing to fall into the hands of 
the living God. But let us not seek to 
measure the tortures of those whom the 
flames of His wrath shall consume ; let us 
rather seek to discover whether there may 
not be a way of escape. I fear it would 
scarce be well with you, if in your present 
condition you were to enter on the future 
life.’’ 

The sick man was silent, and regarded 
me with an expression of anxious inquiry. 
I continued : “ I am a sinner like your- 

self; and when but lately I reviewed my 
past life, and anticipated death and eter- 
nity, I felt that all was not well with me, 
and trembled at the thought of the dark 
future. I was not long of discovering the 
source of my uneasiness. From my infancy 
a gracious God had cared for and protected 
me, and showered on me his choicest bless- 


94 


THE SIGXET-RING AND 


ings ; while I, instead of thanking, have 
forgotten and forsaken him, — have showed 
myself most perverse and ungrateful. Upon 
this arose the question — ‘ Who will atone 
for my guilt, and save me from damnation ? 
and who will give me a new heart, which 
shall take pleasure in the love and service 
of my God ? ’ Behold, the gospel of Jesus 
Christ informs me, that he both died and 
rose again for me, — died for my offences, 
and rose again for my justification, and thus 
wrought out for me an everlasting right- 
eousness. This Jesus of whom I speak to 
you, has released us from the unquenchable 
fire, and shields us from the vengeance of 
the Holy Judge. He came to save sinners ; 
and if you desire salvation, you have but to 
cast yourself as a sinner at his feet, con- 
fessing that you have deserved death, and 
that you look for life in him alone. This, 
at least, is what I have done, and have 
thereby found peace; for Jesus has given 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


95 


to me the pardon of my sins, has taught me 
to walk in the light of his countenance, 
and to serve him with my whole heart and 
soul.” 

Such was the tenor of my conversation 
with this poor sick man, who listened with 
evident and fixed attention, until the fever 
rose so high, that it became imprudent to 
prolong the interview. Pressing the hand 
which he stretched out with tears, I left 
him, praying inwardly for his eternal wel- 
fare. 

I had not noticed that his wife had been 
an attentive hearer of our conversation. 
With heart deeply affected she related to 
her friends and neighbors the glad tidings 
of offered mercy which had been brought 
to her poor husband, and which the Spirit 
of God had made herself willing to accept. 
My uncle and I found ample occupation 
now in visiting the sick. It was indeed a 
blessed time ; and even under the shadow 


96 


THE SIGNET-RING AND 


of the tomb, and in the very face of death, 
there arose around us a blooming garden 
of the Lord. 

“ My dear uncle,’’ said I, one evening, 
as we were recounting to one another the 
rich blessings we had been permitted to 
witness throughout the day beside the 
sick beds of our people, “I believe we 
are now eating the fruit of a tree planted 
by you in the solitude of your lonely 
chamber.” 

Behold, my friend,” said he, ‘‘ the 
stream is full of water, and flows freely 
at our will ; should we not then fill our 
empty vessels from its fulness, morning, 
noon, and night?” 

The smith’s illness was not unto death. 
His recovery was slow ; but he at length 
regained his wonted strength, and — what 
is of still more consequence — the course 
of his life henceforth was as a rising from 
the dead. His conversion proved a bless- 


ITS HEAVENLY MOTTO. 


97 


ing to the neighborhood ; and although, 
when the disease forsook our borders, it 
had brought numbers to the grave, many 
dead souls had thereby been aroused to 
newness of life. 

* 

Gegenburg was henceforth no longer an 
“ opposition borough,” i but stanchly in 
the interest of the Crown. My uncle was 
beloved by all. Old and young would 
follow Father Christian, as they called 
him, as a shepherd is followed by his 
flock. He labored still for five years in 
the once neglected village, after I had 
entered on my present field of duty. On 
hearing that he was supposed to be draw- 
ing near his end, I hastened to his bed- 
side, and found he had just strength suf- 
ficient to extend his hand in token of 
farewell. 

1 The literal meaning of Gegenburg is Opposition borough.” 

9 


98 


THE SIGNET-RING. 


“ My father ! ” cried I, “ may God in 
Heaven reward you for all” — He raised 
his hand and laid it on my mouth, lifted 
his eyes to heaven, and said, — ‘‘Freely^ 
freely — Amen ! ” and so saying, fell asleep 
in Jesus. 


THE INHERITANCE, 

AND 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


. D >T 7l ’V I 5X Til IT I 


3 14 T « Vf A 


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v+. ■ • ■ , ’ , ■ ■ i."' 

f arji^d I ^rMt*jd'u kn^ wor>j I . 

oj , ’jtfc-ii/i jbT avail I jmf 

l!^rfiaw*»4l-5 Ji*w itoiJftiuhui ^ilT it VBiJt 
‘ 7'ii (a<( UmUl a ,lI^*lfv!^ ,laHiff Llui'j ni 

10 sno^ 

OiU j[>K»S/ 'uk avfid 

-jilfll lii i’liu iio?iiu^4l ** 'k> isoixrt' 


THE 


I nsr H E R I N C E , 


AND THE 

JOUENEY TO OBTAIN IT. 

A RESTLESS CHILD EXPECTS HAPPINESS AWAY FROM 
HOME, BUT IS DISAPPOINTED IN HIS SEARCH FOR 
PLEASURE. 

I KNOW not whence I have derived it, 
but I have alwaj^s felt a great desire to 
travel. The inclination even showed itself 
ill childhood, when, without believing the 
one or understanding the other, I could 
have repeated word for word the adven- 
tures of Eobinson Crusoe,” and of Bun- 

9 * 


102 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


yan’s Christian Pilgrim.” They were 
tales of travel, and that alone was enough 
to recommend them to my high considera- 
tion. This roving disposition grew with 
my growth, and formed the framework of 
my youthful dreams ; so that I rather felt 
envy than compassion for those sick persons 
for whom a change of climate was pre- 
scribed. My father viewed the matter in 
a different light ; he looked upon my rest- 
less craving as a malady of which I must 
be cured ; but not according to the honuDeo- 
pathic principle, — by travelling. He kept 
me, therefore, a close prisoner within the 
town of Deventer, where we then lived, 
and purposely avoided taking me with him 
in his frequent excursions in the neighbor- 
hood. On one occasion, to amuse me in 
his absence, he put into my hand Xavier 
de Maistre’s “ Voyage autour de ma Cham- 
bre ; ” ^ but although even then I could 


1 A Journey round my Room. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


103 


admire the genius of that clever work, I 
much preferred the more adventurous, if 
less talented, ‘‘ Voyage round the World,” 
of Captain Cook. 

In short, it was my fixed resolve at once 
to go to sea ; even although my preparatory 
studies for the higher classical school were 
nearly completed. The shock was almost 
fatal to my mother, when she first heard 
of such a plan from the lips of her only 
son. My father did his best, by promises, 
to turn me from my purpose ; but I do 
believe that my mother’s tears, and his 
entreaties, would have proved alike in vain, 
had not a rich old grand-aunt come to their 
assistance with a threat of disinheritance, 
which alarmed me far more than all my 
parents’ pictures of the dangers of the sea. 
A concession, which neither the caresses 
of my mother, nor my father’s earnest 
prayers could wring from me, was yielded 
to* the frown and the well-filled coffer of 


104 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


my crabbed old aunt. I abandoned all 
thoughts of the sea, and resolved to study. 

From all this it will be evident, that my 
position in my father’s house was anything 
but cM(f-like, arid such, alas ! was too much 
the case. I was never so happy as when 
from home ; and there arose, entirely on 
my side, a reserve between my father and 
me, which led to many a melancholy scene. 
As a reward of my concession in regard to 
the sea, I conceived myself well ‘entitled 
to select the academy in which my further 
studies should be prosecuted. My parents, 
consulting the condition of the family 
finances, wished that, for one year at least, 
I should attend the lectures in the Athe- 
nseum of Deventer. Such an arrangement 
was highly distasteful to me, as I had be- 
come very tired of home, and earnestly 
desired an opportunity of escaping from 
it. My parents were unable by any means 
to prevail on me to agree to their wishes. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


105 


and daily disputes on the subject with my 
father only tended to strengthen my self- 
will and to increase my opposition. 

My father’s reiterated assurances that 
the necessary expenses would be altogether 
beyond his means, might perhaps at length 
have brought me to another and a better 
mind, had not my dear grand-aunt taken 
the field for once upon my side, and seeing 
probably that a continued residence at home 
was not likely to mend matters, persuaded 
my parents to allow the “ stubborn fellow,” 
as she called me, to study where he pleased. 
In order to remove their scruples, or at 
least to silence their opposition, she an- 
nounced her readiness to assume the entire 
burden of my maintenance. It appears 
that she was led to make this offer by the 
consideration that she, or father her de- 
ceased husband, had owed their whole 
fortune to my father’s careful and con- 
scientious stewardship, a service for which. 


106 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


after twenty years of neglect, she felt con- 
strained to make this tardy and inadequate 
return. 

Although not a little indignant that my 
aunt should dare to speak so disrespectfully 
of one who had devoted himself to the high 
pursuit of knowledge, I thought it advisable 
to pocket the affront, in consideration of 
the handsome compliment by which it had 
been accompanied. I held her to her word, 
however, that ‘‘ I should study where I 
pleased,” and I selected Amsterdam for 
my Alma Mater, My aunt and my par- 
ents would all have preferred Leyden or 
Utrecht ; but the desire to see our great 
and world-renowned commercial city ren- 
dered me immovable in my determination. 
It was with a perfect tumult of joyful antici- 
pation that I looked forward to the day 
when I should bid adieu to my father, my 
mother, and my friends, and at length set 
out upon my travels. It was well for me. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 107 

perhaps, that none of them were gifted with 
the power of reading my inmost thoughts ; 
for if they could have done so, they might 
have made the discovery that my longing 
was rather to be seated in the Diligence,^ 
than in the lecture-room of any learned 
professor. But, after all, it was the first 
journey I had ever made ; it seemed to me 
a very distant one, and it was certainly to a 
most famous city. 

During the earlier months of my resi- 
dence in Amsterdam, I scarcely found a 
moment for self-recollection. All I saw and 
heard was so entirely new to me, that I 
seemed to have been transported to a world 
of enchantment. I considered myself most 
fortunate in having exchanged the monot- 
ony of my father’s house for a scene of 
enjoyment so varied and unwearying ; but 
the feeling of unfettered liberty rejoiced 
me most of all. Ere long, I had wandered 


1 A vehicle corresponding to the stage-coach in this country. 


108 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


tliroHgli every nook and corner of the great 
city, and visited every remarkable object it 
contained ; in the beginning, I even felt 
that were I to live to the age of Methu- 
selah, my interest in all its wonders would 
not be sensibly diminished. My chief de- 
light consisted, however, in the little excur- 
sions which I made from time to time, in 
company with like-minded, merry-hearted 
fellow-students. Owing to these more con- 
genial engagements, my visits to the college 
were few and far between. 

Meanwhile, to my surprise, I began to 
find less satisfaction in my restless pleasure- 
seeking life. The frequent jaunts and 
merry-makings by degrees began to lose 
the charm of novelty and whereas I had 
formerly imagined that the experience of 
Methuselah would not satisfy me, a few 
short months had sufficed to do so. Accus- 
tomed from my youth to a regular and 
quiet course of life, I had enjoyed at home. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


109 


without appreciating them, the pleasures 
of tranquillity and order ; but now that 
these comforts were no longer mine, I 
began to know their value. Perhaps, how- 
ever, this apprehension of the drawbacks 
in my new position might soon have been 
obliterated by fresh objects of attraction 
and excitement, but for a sudden and unex- 
pected occurrence, which altogether turned 
the current both of my outward and my 
inner life. 

Intelligence of my careless and unstu- 
dious habits had not been long in finding 
its way to Deventer, and had reached the 
ears of my parents and my aunt. It is 
unnecessary to add that they were thereby 
made very anxious on my account ; and 
they lost no time in instituting most par- 
ticular inquiries into all my doings. The 
result of these inquiries was so unsatisfac- 
tory that my parents sent me letters of 
earnest remonstrance, accompanied by a 


10 


110 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


very angry postscript from my aunt. Sit- 
ting one evening in my chamber, indulging 
ill a saddened retrospect of all the tranquil 
years I had passed beneath my parents’ 
roof, — thinking of my estrangement from 
my father, from whom I had parted so 
coldly upon leaving home, — of the unsat- 
isfactory and empty character of my present 
mode of life, — of the absolute necessity 
for some change, and of all the difficulties 
that beset me in the midst of such troops 
of opposing friends, in endeavoring to carry 
it out, — a little packet was unexpectedly 
put into my hands. It contained two let- 
ters, one from my father and one from my 
aunt. Tears gushed from my eyes as I read 
the former ; never shall I forget the depth 
of shame and remorse into which I was 
plunged by the reading of these few lines. 
And yet as I re-perused them several times, 
I was comforted by the tone of tender love 
and compassion that pervaded them. Al- 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


Ill 


though painfully reminded of the distress 
I had so often caused him by my unfilial 
conduct, what most deeply affected me was 
the ever-recurring entreaty to become at 
length ‘‘a son” to him, and to recognize 
and love him as “my father.” My hard 
heart melted, and I experienced a joy such 
as the wide world had never yielded me. 
I began to feel that I had a father^ and I 
began to be a child. 

An altogether different tone pervaded 
the epistle of my aunt. The old lady had 
never had any children, and could not 
remember that she had ever had a father ; 
she exhausted her entire stock of oppro- 
brious names and epithets in endeavoring 
to impress as deeply as possible upon my 
mind the shame and the disgrace of my 
beliavior ; but although many of these 
names and epithets had been employed by 
my father himself, yet as I read them in the 
letter of my aunt, they made a diametri- 


112 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


cally opposite impression. For in her letter 
there was not, from beginning to end, the 
slightest indication or expression of com- 
passion, love, or kindness. In all proba- 
bility the growling document would have 
been trodden indignantly under foot, or 
torn up in anger and folded into matches, 
had not my heart, still softened by my 
father’s tenderness, prevented me, and con- 
science whispered — “ Thou must endure 
this severity, for thou hast deserved it ! ” 
Although the letter of my aunt was cer- 
tainly sufficiently gruff and decided to be 
looked upon as a “ complete” setting to 
rights, the pitiless writer had a far more 
comprehensive conception of “ complete- 
ness,” for she believed that not my heart 
alone, but my purse, ought to be made to 
feel the blows of her merciless scourge. 
This was, however, by no means to be 
wondered at, and quite in accordance with 
her general practice, for she had through- 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


113 


out her life given unmistakable evidence 
that she considered the purse an essential 
and honorable part of the person. It is 
not surprising, therefore, that at the con- 
clusion of her letter, she so seriously re- 
duced my annual allowance, that from this 
time forth there was no other prospect for 
me than to bring down my expenses to 
the most humble scale. “ By this means,’’ 
thought she, “ he will learn to unite fru- 
gality with industry.” After calm reflec- 
tion, my aunt’s method of education did 
not at all astonish me, for she considered 
the possession of money at least as useful 
to herself as to any one else, and had she 
not as my godmother taken a duty upon 
her, she would assuredly have applied the 
whole of my allowance to assist her in the 
practice of her noble thrift. Be that as 
it may, this much at least is certain, that 
she was strictly faithful to her threat, for 
although she had more crown-pieces in her 
10 * 


114 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


old-fashioned bugle-bag than there were 
folds in her ancient turban, her letters to 
her only god-son contained far more admo- 
nitions than bank-notes. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


115 


Cljapitr 


REMORSE — LONGINGS AFTER HOME— BECOMES HEIR 
TO A LARGE INHERITANCE. 


To judge from outward circumstances, 
my condition was now most pitiable and 
melanclioly ; for I must have surpassed 
even my aunt in economy had I lived on 
the allowance she made me, without run- 
ning into debt. I well knew that my 
parents could send me but little, and 
though my mother did occasionally con- 
trive to slip a trifle into her letters, she 
needed to go very cautiously to work for 
fear of rousing the wakeful suspicion of my 
aunt. The escapades and amusements of 
former days were no longer to be thought 
of, and my taste for them, besides, had 


116 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


altogether disappeared. I applied myself 
henceforth most zealously to the prosecu- 
tion of my studies, and led a life of such 
unvarying regularity, that I became a by- 
word for my retiring habits, even with the 
most temperate of my fellow-students. 
It might have been difficult to determine 
which of the two letters had the greater 
influence in producing this change of life. 
I myself believe that they were mutually 
helpful, for that of my father taught me 
to love retirement, while from my aunt’s 
I learned to dread excess. The strictest 
economy had become absolutely needful ; 
my finances were indeed so pinched, that 
it was with the greatest difficulty I pro- 
cured a decent coat, not even dreaming 
of venturing to display so much as a little 
corner of my linen, and my imagination 
was daily stretched to the utmost in trans- 
forming my dinner napkin into a table- 
cloth. I soon began to shun the principal 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


117 


streets of the great city, and often should 
have lost heart altogether, but for the 
tranquillizing influence of the hope that 
I should one day be my grand-aunt’s heir. 
Swift-winged rumor soon brought intelli- 
gence to Deventer of the improvement in 
my habits, and procured me many a letter 
from my father, which was as the balm of 
consolation to my wounded spirit. 

Even as in former times I had placed 
my highest happiness in escaping to a dis- 
tance from the parental home, so now a 
longing to return to it began to awaken 
within me with resistless power. Often 
did that home-sickness come over me 
which visits the natives of Switzerland 
with such peculiar force ; and, had it not 
been for the hollow warning voice which 
greeted me from time to time from out my 
empty purse, I should certainly have flown 
back to my father’s house far sooner than 
I did, — all the more that the desire 


118 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


to travel had not lost its former hold of 
me. But, under present circumstances, I 
did not even dare to plan a little trip to 
Haarlem, so that I must needs suppress 
all longing after a more distant journey. 
Often, however, when sitting in the evening 
quietly alone, and deeply sunk in thought, 
I rejoiced in the prospect that in the long 
vacation I should be allowed to visit my 
home. The end of all such dreams, alas ! 
was ever painful ; and when I anticipated 
the probable manner of my aunt’s recep- 
tion, and above all, when I thought of my 
return to college when the holidays should 
be over, and I must enter on the struggles 
of another year with stint and poverty, — 
these gloomy pictures caused me at times 
so much distress, that even my intensest 
homeward longings quite gave way before 
them. 

The retrospect of sorrow often gives birth 
to quiet joy, although while the grief is 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


119 


present with us, such a possibility seems 
beyond conception. Often did I sit in 
silent sorrow in my chamber, — and I had 
abundant opportunity, for all my former 
friends, with one exception, had forsaken 
me since my corks would no longer start 
at their command. To Mr. Sybrand, how- 
ever, my father’s old and faithful friend, I 
could still unbosom all my grief. Like 
myself, this pious, excellent, and tlioughtfiil 
man had but few associates, and might have 
been a leper, to judge by the extent of his in- 
tercourse with his fellow-citizens. “ David,” 
said he to me one day, “ so long as your 
table overflows with the contents of your 
cellar, your house will be full of friends ; but 
so soon as your mouth begins to pour forth 
the overflowing abundance of your heart, 
these friends at once will disappear.” 

‘^Mr. Sybrand,” replied I, “the first 
clause of your proposition I understand, 
but not the last.” 


120 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


“You will understand it,” said he, “ so 
soon as your heart is full of the abundance 
of good things I speak of. You will stay 
and dine with me to-day, will you not?” 

This was the usual winding up when I 
paid him a forenoon visit, and although a 
most acceptable termination, it made me 
shy of calling on him at an early hour. 
On such occasions the contents of his cellar 
and his heart were placed with equal liber- 
ality at my disposal ; and the latter were 
not less genial and invigorating than the 
former. 

Sitting as usual one evening in my 
chamber at the twilight hour, I felt some- 
thing very like a tear start into my eye, 
as a letter was unexpectedly presented to 
me. The lamp was lighted in a twinkling, 
and by its first faint ray I recognized my 
father’s handwriting. But — the black seal ! 
I felt sick at heart, for I thought of my 
mother. In anxious haste I tore the letter 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


121 


open, and who shall describe my surprise ! 
I read four or five hurried lines, wherein 
my father informed me that my aunt had 
died suddenly, leaving me her heir, and 
begged that I would lose no time in reach- 
ing home, in order that I might be present 
at her funeral, and the reading of her will. 
I could scarcely believe my eyes. Twenty 
times, I am sure, without exaggeration, I 
took the letter in my hand, and twenty 
times at least I asked myself. Are you 
sleeping or waking ? 

That I was awake my lamp at length 
assured me, it having gone out for want 
of oil ; and as I had not a farthing in my 
pocket to buy more, my poverty convinced 
me that I was not in the magic land of 
dreams. To relieve myself from pecuniary 
embarrassment, I hastened to Mr. Sybrand, 
to whom, besides, I longed to tell the happy 
news. As I walked along, I thought to 
myself, “Mr. Sybrand was right, after all. 


11 


122 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


when lie insisted that a man might be in 
possession of great riches, and yet be too 
poor to bny oil.” 

I did not find my worthy friend at home, 
a disappointment which had never before 
happened to me when I had called on him 
in the evening. The servant accounted for 
his absence, by informing me that her mas- 
ter was going from home the following 
morning, and was making a few necessary 
preparations. I told her that I myself was 
in similar circumstances, of which I begged 
her to inform her master, and to say that 
if he had anything to send to Deventer it 
should be with me that evening, as it was 
my intention to start by the Diligence early 
on the following morning. 

On returning to my chamber, however, I 
found myself in no little perplexity, seeing 
that my hope of borrowing from Mr. Sy- 
brand had come to nought. How should I 
contrive to pay my fare ? and my old hat 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


123 


was scarce in a condition to stand so long a 
journey. ‘‘Alas, poor heir!” cried I, “you 
will need to sell all that you have, in order 
to win your inheritance!” So saying, I 
went to the jeweller, and parted with my 
gold watch, the only article of value tliat 
I possessed. I thought to myself, “ The 
inheritance will surely more than make up 
for being a day without a watch ! ” I re- 
turned to my chamber in high glee, packed 
my trunk, and dreamt all night on three 
subjects, which equally delighted me : of 
meeting my dear parents, — of the unex- 
pected inheritance, — and of the journey 
that awaited me in the morning. 


124 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


THE SETTING OUT UPON THE JOURNEY FOR THE IN- 
HERITANCE — TEMPTATIONS TO DOUBT THE FATHER’S 
WORD. 

He who has ever occupied a similar 
position to mine, will readily believe that 
I awoke betimes the following morning, 
and that for once in all my student-life I 
was up before the cock. I reached the 
coach-office at least an hour before the 
time of starting ; and my early rising was 
certainly not attributable to the beauty of 
the weather, for it rained in torrents. Just 
as I was stepping into the coach, some one 
pulled me by the sleeve. Looking round 
by the light of the guard’s lantern, I ex- 
claimed, in astonishment, ‘‘ What ! Mr. 
Sybrand. are you going with me ? ” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


125 


To Deventer,” replied he. 

“ That is, indeed ” — 

‘‘ Now then, if you please, gentlemen!” 
cried the guard, as he held the lantern 
before the coach-door. I leaped in, and 
Mr. Sybrand followed me. Like an insa- 
tiate ogre the huge machine engulfed its 
crowds of passengers ; the driver seized the 
reins, the guard his horn, and, overjoyed, 
I seized the hand of my dear travelling 
companion. While the others were in- 
demnifying themselves for their disturbed 
repose, by sleeping as soundly as the jolting 
of the coach would permit, I told Mr. Sy- 
brand of the unexpected death of my aunt. 
After we had spoken of the deceased for 
some time, he turned to me, and said : 
“ But, David, I have never before seen you 
so joyous as you are this morning.” 

‘‘ Probably not,” replied I ; “ and you 
have never before seen me on my way to 
claim an inheritance.” 

11 * 


126 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


An inheritance ! that is indeed news 
worth hearing. But, tell me, is the inheri- 
tance then already yours ? ’’ 

“ Certainly ; I should not otherwise be 
on my way to take possession of it.’’ 

“ I should have thought, on the contrary, 
that if it were your own, you would not 
need to take possession.” 

“ There you are right, no doubt ; but we 
will not split hairs about it ; for you know 
well enough that the inheritance is at least 
as good as my own.” 

How is that ? ” 

“ Because I have intelligence of* it from 
my father.” 

“ But it is surely a very different thing 
to receive a letter and to have actual pos- 
session of an inheritance.” 

“ In my case, my dear Mr. Syhrand, there 
is no difference whatever. When I come 
to see and finger my possessions I shall not 
feel more sure that they are mine, seeing 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


127 


that I have the word of my father to assure 
me of the fact.’’ 

“ Your confidence is strong, indeed,” said 
Mr. Sy brand, dryly. 

“ How I ” cried I, with some impatience ; 
“ you are surely joking. You know my 
father well, and must be aware that he is 
not the man to write such a letter in jest. 
Had it come from one of my school com- 
panions at Deventer I should probably have 
lighted my pipe with it. But even in the 
most trifling matters my father has never 
deceived me — his word has ever been as 
good as his oath.” 

‘‘ But you know,” said Mr. Sybrand, in a 
whisper, “ that there have occasionally been 
misunderstandings between you and your 
father ; you have caused him much sorrow 
in former times.” 

“ I grieve to admit that that is all too 
true,” said I, and I believe my voice began 
to falter ; “ but, my dear Mr. Sybrand, that 


128 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


is all forgiven and forgotten. If you had 
but read one of my father’s late letters to 
me, you would be convinced that recollec- 
tions of the past could never move him to 
such inhuman trifling with my feelings ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” said he, “ if you are indeed sure 
of his forgiveness, then your mind may be 
at rest on that point. But, dear David, 
are you equally sure that you have read 
and understood the letter correctly ? Ad- 
mitting that it actually comes from your 
father, — although the imitation of hand- 
writing has been brought to great perfec- 
tion, — you may have misunderstood its 
meaning. Perhaps you read the letter in 
haste, and carelessly ; you may have given 
the words a meaning in conformity to your 
own wishes, with which, on a more careful 
examination, their import will he found to 
he entirely at variance.” 

Bead the letter hurriedly ! ” cried I ; 
‘‘ I read it over and over, twenty times at 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


129 


least ; and had my lamp not gone out, I 
should certainly have read it a hundred 
times. I read till my eyes were weary. I 
drank in, as it were, each word, each indi- 
vidual letter. I know it by heart. Shall I 
repeat it to you ? You will then he con- 
vinced that I am flattering myself with no 
vain imagination.’’ 

“ Your repeating the letter from memory 
would be of little use to me^'* said he, for 
you would repeat it exactly as you read it. 
The question with me is, whether you have 
read it aright, whether what you read 
is actually written in the letter. But you 
have doubtless got it in your pocket. Let 
me read it for myself.” 

“ That would puzzle you ! ” cried I. 
“ Why, it is quite dark in the coach ; you 
had better wait till sunrise.” 

That is unnecessary,” said he, taking a 
little box of matches from his pocket. ‘‘Give 
me the letter, and strike a light for me.” 


130 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


I handed him the letter, lighted a matcli, 
and as I held the flame as near as possible 
to the paper, Mr. Sybrand began to read, 
in an undertone, amid the rattling of the 
coach : 

“ Beloved David : — I has — ten to in- 
form you — that — your grand — aunt died 
this mor — ning, and also to announce — 
that — she has named — Youes — her heir. 
Come home as fast as you can. We are all 
well, and send love to you.” 

“ Youes ! ” said Mr. Sybrand, handing 
me back the letter, in the reading of which 
we had expended at least half a dozen 
matches. ‘‘ Youes ? — Who is this Youesf^^ 
There is not a word about Youes, or 
any such name, in the whole letter!” cried 
I, in amazement. “ Where did you read 
that? ” 

‘‘ Exactly in that part of the communi- 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


131 


cation on which all your prospects hinge. 
Youes is the name of your aunt’s heir. Do 
you know him ? ” 

“ This is too absurd ! ” cried I. There 
is not in all Deventer an individual of the 
name of Youes. But as the rattling of the 
wheels prevented me from hearing you dis- 
tinctly, pray tell me what you read.” 

“ And also to announce that she has 
named Youes her heir,” repeated Mr. Sy- 
brand. 

Youes! — Youes said I, slowly, and 
then, after a moment’s consideration, ex- 
claimed, ‘‘I have it now — You as — and 
also to announce that she has named You 
as her heir. These are the very words. 
You must have mistaken the a for an e.” 

“ So at least you think,” rejoined Mr. 
Sybrand ; but who is to decide between 
us? We have both read the same letter; 
we have both the use of all our faculties, 
and still we have taken up directly opposite 


132 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


opinions. It seems to me that our most 
becoming course would be that I should 
respect your opinion and you mine.’^ 

“ That I certainly cannot,” cried I, for 
your opinion is as surely false as mine is 
surely true.” 

‘‘ You have indeed tolerable assurance, 
not to say presumption,” replied he. Have 
you, then, a monopoly of truth ? Are you 
infallible ? Is it impossible that you can be 
deceived?” 

“ On many points I might,” said I, “ but 
not in this matter. Seeing, surely, is be- 
lieving.” 

“ By your leave, however, mine are not 
mole’s eyes any more than yours.” 

But, my dear Mr. Sybrand, you read 
the letter by a very feeble and uncertain 
light, and the constant jolting kept the 
paper fluttering hither and thither before 
the miserable little flame. Often, too, the 
light went out, and had to be rekindled.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


133 


And pray, by what light did you read 
the document ? ’’ retorted he. 

‘‘ By the bright light of my table-lamp.” 

‘‘ And have you not just told me that 
it went out while you were reading the 
letter ? ” 

^‘Yes; hut” — 

Come, come, we cannot dispute as to 
whose light was the best. You see you 
have in no respect proved the exclusive 
truth of your opinion. Suppose, then, that 
treating it as a matter of indifference to 
both, you choose to maintain that you alone 
are right, I am equally free to assert that 
you are mistaken, that you are not the 
heir, but that your aunt’s will is in favor 
of a certain Mr. Youes. Confess that it is 
possible you may have blundered, and I am 
content.” 

I could with difficulty contain myself. 

Never, while I live, will I confess any 
such thing ! ” I exclaimed. You are 


12 


134 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


mistaken, Mr. Sybrand : it is I who am 
right.” 

‘‘ Well, then, it ’s of no use to say any 
more about it,” replied my companion, im- 
patiently. “ You are a stubborn fellow, to 
believe that no one can see except yourself ; 
but, take my word for it, a bare assertion 
of opinion won’t go for more than it is 
worth in the world we live in;” and so 
saying, he threw himself back in a corner of 
the carriage. “ But, Mr. Sybrand,” I said, 
after a pause, tell me, I entreat you, what 
sense could you make out of the words, ‘ I 
have further to inform you that she has 
named Youes her heir.’ What grammarian 
would speak or write thus ? If your view 
were correct, you would need to insert ‘ as’ 
— ‘ Youes as her heir.’ ” 

This verbal criticism is out of place 
here,” he replied, ‘‘ first, because your 
father comes from a province where the 
verb ‘to name’ is used without the ‘as’; 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


135 


secondly, because your father himself says 
he has 'written very hurriedly, and so may 
have forgotten this little 'word ; and lastly, 
because your father is neither grammarian 
nor scholar, and has just 'written in his 
simplicity, heeding neither construction nor 
style. You must surely remember errors 
in both, in his previous correspondence.” 

“ Oh, certainly.” 

‘‘ Well, then, taking all these philological 
subtleties into consideration, I should have 
remained at home. You see that our dis- 
pute is never likely to come to a satisfactory 
conclusion. If you would only confess the 
possibility of your being in error, and recog- 
nize, on the other hand, the possibility of 
my being right, that is all I require. Only 
I cannot endure the obstinacy with which 
you cling to the assertion of your own 
exclusive possession of truth; more espe- 
cially in opposition to one who has years 
and experience on his side, and who has, 


136 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


moreover, had a great many more letters 
than you ! ’’ 

I sighed, and looked out of the window 
to see whether the sun were rising ; for with 
the sun, the truth, I thought, would surely 
come to light. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


137 




WE ARE HEIRS THROUGH BELIEF OF THE FATHER^S 
WORD, AND MUST NOT DOUBT THE TRUTH OF THE 
EVIDENCE FOR ANY OBJECTIONS OR CRITICISMS 
THAT MAY BE BROUGHT AGAINST IT. 


We had now arrived at Muiden, where 
the Diligence halted. In the little parlor 
of the inn a fine oil-lamp with four burners 
shed its bright rays into every corner. 

“Now, Mr. Sybrand! ” I exclaimed, impa- 
tiently, “ now is the time to decide our 
quarrel. By this light the truth will be 
evident. Look now,” said I, holding the 
letter in my left hand, while with the fore- 
finger of my right I pointed to the word 
as. “You see that it is plainly as, and 
not es/’^ 

“ I beg your pardon,” he rejoined, “ but 

12 * 


138 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


I cannot agree with you. This is and 
ever will remain an e, that to me is plain 
enough.’’ 

‘‘But, my dear Mr. Sybrand,” I ex- 
claimed, at the same time stamping with 
passion, “ you purposely overlook the space 
between ‘you’ and ‘as’, which is a clear 
proof that these are two distinct words.” 

“ Don’t be angry with me, my friend, 
when I own I cannot even see that.” 

“ Mr. Sybrand, do you mean to say you 
are blind ? ” 

“And you clear sighted,” he retorted, 
sharply. 

“ I certainly know that I have two good 
eyes in my head.” 

“ It is possible that I may be blind,” he 
answered, laughing, “ or it may be the fault 
of the light. I will bring it a little lower.” 
So saying, he moved the lamp, and, taking 
the letter out of my hand, he held it for 
some minutes close to his eyes, with his 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


139 


forefinger under the equivocal word, as 
though deciphering some document of im- 
portance. At length he returned it to me, 
saying, “ I really cannot see it.’’ I took 
it, and turned my eyes once more to the 
controverted point, when, alas! a drop of 
oil had fallen on the spot, and the word was 
now illegible. “ There ’s an end of the mat- 
ter now,” I said hastily, casting the letter 
into the fire. “ You have made it so dirty 
that even the sun would no longer make it 
clear.” 

I will not suppose you have lost the 
inheritance with the letter,” he rejoined, 
smiling sarcastically. 

“ I have no misgivings on that score,” I 
replied. The inheritance is not contin- 
gent on the letter — it rests on the will of 
the testatrix.” 

“ But shall you not want the letter at 
Deventer, in order to prove yourself the 
heir ? ” 


140 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


‘‘ Certainly not. It is not the letter that 
constituted me heir ; I received the letter 
because I am the heir, for this I was before 
the letter was written.’’ 

Why, then, the letter ? ” 

“ To announce to me the glad tidings, 
of course ; how otherwise should I . have 
known them ? I was the heir at Deventer, 
while I was living in poverty at Amster- 
dam ; and I should still be living in my 
cold room there, sad and comfortless, if 
my dear father had not communicated the 
joyful news to me.” 

“You were not the heir, then, at the 
moment the letter was put into your 
hands ? ” 

“Not to my own knowledge, but my 
father knew it then.” 

“ Well, but when did you become an 
heir, in your own estimation?” 

“ As soon as I had read the letter and 


understood the contents.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


141 


“ And yet you told me but now, that at 
the first reading you were scarcely con- 
scious what were the contents.” 

“ And no wonder ! I could hardly 
believe my own eyes. But when, after 
reading and re-reading, I found that it cer- 
tainly was so ; when I was assured, on the 
word of my father, that the inheritance was 
indeed mine, I jumped five feet high for 

joj-” 

“ That one can easily comprehend. But 
by what means did you become the joyful 
heir ? ” 

‘‘ By believing the word of my father.” 

You are right now, my friend,” said 
Mr. Sybrand, grasping my hand affection- 
ately, hy helieving the word of your father. 
And therefore you have zealously stood up 
against me for the word and the letter, 
for on these everything depended. Your 
whole inheritance, and all the happiness of 
your journey, stand or fall with them. And 


142 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


now you may have learned something from 
all this’’— 

“ What ? ” 

“ That although to you as a believer 
everything depended on the word and the 
letter, yet you would never by these have 
brought home conviction to the heart of the 
unbeliever so long as it refused its assent 
to them. To one who has no interest in 
the writing, it is a matter of very little 
moment what is written. To him the first 
hurried reading is the truth, and the most 
incongruous explanation is incontrovertible. 
In the meantime, I will declare myself con- 
verted from my unbelief, and honestly wish 
you joy of your inheritance. I rejoiced 
yesterday evening on your account, when 
I heard that your aunt had thought so 
kindly of you.” 

“How?” I exclaimed, quickly. “You 
knew it yesterday evening, and yet I did not 
find you at home. Who could have ” — 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


143 


“Your father himself, my dear friend, 
wrote by the same mail to us both — for 
your aunt has appointed me joint-executor 
with him of her last will and testament.” 
. . . . But now a call echoed through 

the parlor, “ Ladies and gentlemen for 
J^aarden ! ” and, hastily paying our reck- 
oning, and snatching up travelling-caps, 
wrappers, and pipes, we hurried to the 
Diligence, and once more seated ourselves 
for our journey. 


144 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


CIjEpii^r Jftii-e. 

ON A JOURNEY WE PLACE THE UTMOST CONFIDENCE 

IN THE CONDUCTOR — IT IS ALWAYS USELESS TO 

TALK ABOUT LIGHT TO THE BLIND. 

Scarcely had we left Miiiden, when Mr. 
Sybraiid exclaimed, “ I rejoice greatly, my 
friend, to find that neither ridicule nor 
criticism could shake your confidence in 
the truth of your father’s testimony.” 

‘‘ And no wonder,” I rejoined ; ‘‘ I know 
my father too well, and his good tidings 
had rooted too deeply in my heart, to be 
disturbed by such attacks as those.” 

And why were you so tenacious of the 
tidings ? ” 

“ Because the promised good was the 
object of my earnest desire. If our dis- 
pute had been of things indifferent to me. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


145 


1 should not have wasted words on them ; 
I should have given up, just for the sake of 
peace and quiet.’’ 

‘‘Indeed,” replied Mr. Sybrand, “there 
is nothing more unprofitable than questions 
about words and letters. Yet if the whole 
happiness of our journey is dependent on 
their import, it rests entirely on such a 
dispute.” 

“And for that very reason,” said I, “it is 
difficult to avoid the imputation of narrow- 
mindedness and self-conceit.” 

“Oh, certainly ! Yet only in the judg- 
ment of those who, having no appreciation 
of the promised good, regard the joy-giving 
knowledge of it as nothing more than a 
cold word or a dead letter. Such persons 
cannot understand why others give them- 
selves so much trouble about words and 
letters, because they themselves have no 
eyes for the treasures concealed in them.” 

Here our conversation was interrupted 


13 


146 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


by a sudden jolt, which roused the sleepers, 
and caused me to put my head out of the 
window and call to the conductor, to know 
if there were anything wrong. 

‘‘ Nothing whatever, sir,” was the answer. 

The Diligence went forward, and I re- 
treated again to my corner. 

“You had nearly lost your inheritance 
then,” said Mr. Sybrand. 

“ How so ? ” 

“ How ! If the Diligence had overturned 
into the ditch, and you had met with death 
and a grave there,” he replied. 

“ True,” said I ; “ in that case it would 
indeed have been all up with my fine pros- 
pects in Deventer. But, in this respect, we 
must place all our confidence in the conduc- 
tor. What folly to be troubling one’s self 
about the management of the coach when 
one is sitting inside and all around is dark.” 

“ The main thing is, that we have a con- 
ductor in whom we can implicitly trust. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


147 


And happy are they who have a leader 
capable of protecting them in all perils.” 

“ Assuredly,” rejoined I ; for once in 
the Diligence, we are incapable of doing 
anything to alter its course or its speed.” 

In the meanwhile, there may be terri- 
ble joltings and awkward turnings — but 
our anxiety can do nothing for us, and yet 
we are so anxious and so fearful ! ” 

“ Yes, indeed,” I answered, ‘‘ and in such 
cases it is always best to ask the conductor 
if there be any danger. He can at once 
allay our fears.” 

We travelled on for a while without 
speaking, and I thought long of these last 
words of mine. Night still spread her 
dark wings over the earth, but just on 
the eastern horizon there was a faint glim- 
mer of light. There was not a star to point 
out our way. It was only by the conduc- 
tor’s lamp that I saw the trees that waved 
their long, spectre-like branches over us. 


148 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


Dark as it may be to us,” I thought, 

the conductor is sitting in the light, and 
this is far better than if matters were re- 
versed.” 

Look!” cried one, whom from his voice 
I took to be a young man of my own age, 
‘‘ look, how gloriously the light is appearing 
in the east!” 

I beg your pardon, sir,” chimed in a 
woman’s voice, ‘‘ but are you not mistaken ? 
Perhaps you don’t know the points of the 
compass.” 

‘‘ How so, madam ! ” 

‘‘ Because, sir, if I did not misunderstand 
you, you say the light appears in the east,” 
replied she, laughing outright. 

‘‘ And pray, where do you place the 
sun?” inquired the young man, evidently 
perplexed by this geographical examina- 
tion. 

“ Surely,” she replied, “ one need not 
have lived so long in the world as you 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


149 


seem to have done, to know that the sun 
rises in the west.” 

“ In the west ! ” he exclaimed. ‘‘ How 
long may it be since the transposition took 
place in the heavenly circle ? ” 

“ It will be needful for you to go through 
your school-exercises again, sir,” replied the 
star-gazer. 

“ Madam ! ” retorted the other, firmly, 
“ did you go to school in the moon ? or 
are you a descendant of the Ninevites, of 
whom we read that they did not so much 
as know their right hand from their left ? ” 

“ And you, sir ! ” — 

‘‘ Hush, my child,” was here uttered in 
trembling tones. ‘‘ Hush ! you speak fool- 
ishly. Pray, sir, have the goodness to 
excuse my daughter. The poor child is 
blind.” 

The riddle was now read. The young 
man was silent, the rest of the passengers 
were silent also, and silently the glorious 

13 * 


150 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


sun rose over the eastern horizon. And 
now the oppressive stillness was broken by 
the jolting and shaking of the Diligence, as 
we rattled over the paved street of another 
town ; in a few moments we halted, and 
the conductor opened the door and gave the 
welcome invitation to alight. We were at 
Naarden. 

‘‘ Assuredly,” said Mr. Sybrand to me, as 
we were sipping our coffee in the public 
room — ‘‘assuredly it is but lost labor to 
talk to the blind about light.” 

“ You are right,” I rejoined ; “ the lady 
should have recollected that on that sub- 
ject no one was so liable to be mistaken as 
herself.” 

“Do you think that she is unconscious 
of her blindness ? ” 

“ Far from it. She is but too well aware 
of her sad condition, and asserts her incapa- 
bility of seeing to every one.” 

“ Why, then, should she have expressed 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


151 


her foolish opinion, and maintained it so 
obstinately ? ” 

“ Only because in matters of light she 
thought herself wiser than those who have 
eyes.” 

“You have hit the mark. This is fre- 
quently the case with the blind. None of 
them deny the fact of their blindness ; few 
live in the habitual feeling of it. Thus we 
so often hear them say with all the confi- 
dence of vision — ‘ I see that in another 
light.’ ‘I must keep that in my eye.’ ‘I 
must not lose sight of tliat.’ Such expres- 
sions are just current with them because 
they have caught them from those who see ; 
and they would cease to use them if they 
could be made to feel their unsuitableness ; 
but they forget their blindness, and speak 
as though they could see. Still there is 
no one so blind as not to be conscious that 
there is such a thing as light. Only — he 
neither knows whence it comes, nor where 


152 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


to seek it. Thus in the morning he expects 
the sun to rise in the west.” 

“ A sad condition,” I rejoined ; would 
that they could be persuaded to commit 
themselves to the teaching and guidance 
of their seeing friends I ” 

“ That would indeed be for their com- 
fort, my friend ! But for this, one thing is 
needful, of which many blind persons are 
destitute.” 

“ And that is ” — 

‘‘ Faith. If the young lady in the Dili- 
gence had believed the assertion of her 
fellow-traveller, because he actually saw 
the light, she would not have disputed with 
him — she would have been taught by him. 
As long as a blind man continues in his 
unbelief he makes a liar of his opponent, 
and continues in his blindness ; but when 
he believes the word of one who has eyes, 
he himself begins to see, for he sees through 
the eyes of the other.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


153 


Cljaptcr 


THE HEART CAXNOT BE FILLED BY THE THOUGHT OF 
THE INHERITANCE, UNLESS ONE IS HIMSELF THE 
HEIR— IF ONE BE NOT THE HEIR, NO SUBJECT IS 
SO TIRESOME AS THAT OF THE INHERITANCE. 


Again we were summoned to take oiir 
places in the Diligence, and as the back 
seat was occupied only by Mr. Sybrand 
and myself, we could converse freely in 
an undertone, and it was natural enough 
that the expected inheritance should soon 
become the subject of our conversation. 

‘‘ Why do you laugh, if I may ask ? ” said 
I, on perceiving a smile steal over Mr. Sy- 
brand’s features as I began to speak. 

‘‘You will soon see,” was the reply; 
and then turning to one of the passen- 
gers, whose lips had never once been closed 


154 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


since lie had left Haarlem, lie said to the 
gentleman, ‘‘ Are you also going to De- 
venter, sir ? 

‘‘ I beg your pardon, sir, I bid you good- 
bye at Amersfort. You travel on to De- 
venter, I presume ? ” 

Yes,” replied Mr. Sybrand. Have 
you any friends there ? ” 

a Very few. I had some good friends 
with whom I was formerly connected in 
business ? ” 

“We understand that a lady has just 
died there who has left a very handsome 
fortune.” 

“ Indeed ! what may bo the amount ?” 

“ I am not aware ; but according to re- 
port it is considerable.” 

“ A fine thing for the heir. Or perhaps 
tlie good lady may have left a dozen chil- 
dren ? ” 

“ No ; she was a childless widow. It all 
comes to a grand-nephew, between twenty 


TUE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


155 


and thirty years of age, and who is named 
in her will as sole legatee.” 

“ Ay ! a pleasant windfall that, to the 
young man. But it ’s sad to think of the 
heavy legacy-duty there will be to pay. 
Indeed, things are come to such a pass, 
that I expect soon people will give away 
their property in their life-time, reserving 
the use of it till their death. I don’t know 
that this would be exactly right, for the 
country wants it all ; and in these times 
we must do all we can to keep the helm 
in the -right direction, — and that in small 
things as well as in great, — for every 
branch of industry is now under pressure. 
The distinction between manufacturer and 
dealer has quite passed away. The manu- 
facturer now visits even the villages him- 
self, so that the large shops of the smaller 
towns are left without orders.” 

You must certainly have a shop at 
Amersfort,” said Mr. Sybrand. 


15G 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


At your service,’’ rejoined our talkative 
companion ; ‘‘ but my bright days are all 
over. In my father’s time, as long ago as 
when I was a lad twelve years of age, he 
had six men serving in the shop, besides 
three packers in the warehouse, and other 
assistants, and then we scarcely knew how 
to execute the orders we received. Now, 
my wife and I manage the whole business 
easily, and have to keep a frugal house to 
get a living out of it.” 

“ So that you would have no objection 
to have been served heir to the old lady at 
Deventer ? ” 

“ You may say that, indeed. I would 
soon give up my shop, and drink my bottle 
of wine every day. Now we are obliged 
to be contented with a cup of coffee. Oh, 
yes ! the old times were the good times ; 
but, alas! they will never return. Only 
think, my father ” — 

“ Left you a larger fortune than that of 
the lady of Deventer.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


157 


“ Not he, indeed ! The dreadful mer- 
cantile panic and crash came between me 
and fortune, and my father’s house went 
along with the rest. Among other” — 

“ Yes,” interrupted Mr. Sybrand, ‘‘ that 
crisis touched the Deventer lady. If she 
had escaped this universal crisis, her prop- 
erty would have been far more consider- 
able.” 

“ I can readily believe that. But what 
was I going to say ? — I have it. Only 
think, my father at the time of the crisis ” — 
“Was perhaps expecting to succeed to 
an inheritance like that of the lady at 
Deventer.” 

“ Certainly not. No ; would that it had 
been so ! But the good man trusted a 
merchant at Amsterdam, from whom he ” — 
“ Perhaps expected an inheritance as 
considerable as that of the lady at De- 
venter.” 

The talkative dealer paused for a mo- 


14 


158 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


merit, and then looked angrily in Mr. Sy- 
brand’s face. The other passengers laughed 
outright, and I had difficulty in restraining 
myself. 

‘‘ What do you mean, sir ? ” asked he of 
Amersfort, much excited ; “ are you mak- 
ing game of me 

‘‘ How so ? ” rejoined Mr. Sybrand, dryly. 

“ Because, sir, you are always inter- 
rupting me with your inheritance at De- 
venter.” 

“ And why should that annoy you?” 

‘‘ Why ? because I have no interest in it.” 

And yet an inheritance is no light 
matter.” 

“ That may be ; but what have I to do 
with it ? ” 

“ I wished to converse a little with you 
on this interesting subject.” 

“ And wherefore ? ” 

‘‘ Because I attach great importance to 
this inheritance.” 


THE JOUENEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


159 


“ By all means. Speak of it with whom 
you choose, only not with me.” 

‘‘ Would it, then, be so very disagreeable 
to you to hear me speak of it till Ave get 
to Deventer ? ” 

‘‘Oh, the weary time ! And do you 
expect the rest to listen too, till we get 
to Deventer ? Why, Ave are not yet in 
Amersfort ! ” 

“But why do you find the subject so 
very wearisome ? ” 

“ Simply because it has no interest for 
me at all, and I could not, if I would, 
give it my attention, even for five minutes. 
Talk about your inheritance from this to 
Japan, if you Avill, only not to me, I beg 
of you.” 

“ Now, take it not amiss,” said Mr. Sy- 
brand ; “ but here, in this Diligence, a 
Avonderful fact is passing before our eyes. 
This young man,” pointing to me, “ has 
scarcely spoken of anything but this Devon- 


160 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


ter inheritance all the way from Amster- 
dam ; and whatever topic I may introduce, 
he always contrives to bring us back to the 
inheritance. What a remarkable difference 
between two persons sitting in the same 
carriage ! ” 

“ But,” said the merchant, looking me 
full in the face, ‘‘ this gentleman is perhaps 
the heir.” 

‘‘You have it ! ” replied Mr. Sy brand. 

“ Then, indeed, it is no wonder,” ex- 
claimed our fellow-travellers, looking round 
at me. And an old lady remarked, with 
a look full of meaning, as she stuck her 
knitting-needle between the folds of her 
dress, “ Out of the abundance of the heart 
the mouth speaketh.” 

“ Of a truth,” rejoined my old friend ; 
“ but the heart cannot be full unless a man 
be an heir. Otherwise there is no subject 
so tedious as the inheritance.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


161 


Cljapttr 

HOW FOOLISH IT IS TO LOSE THE OBJECT OF A JOUR- 
NEY FOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE REFRESHMENT BY 
THE WAY. 

Every one who was accustomed in those 
days to travel to Amersfort by the Dili- 
gence, knows that there was plenty of time 
allowed at the halting-places, not only for 
comfortable refreshment, but for weariness. 
Doubtless many a traveller may also call 
to mind the savory cutlets that were to be 
had there far more readily for good coin 
than for good words. In the waiting-room 
at Amersfort, on this occasion, there sat, 
behind a barricade of small rolls, a portly 
dame, who was eating from two dishes at 
once. Her exertions in this department, 
however, did not prevent her entering into 

14 * 


162 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


familiar gossip ; and, as I happened to take 
a glass of wine at the table where she was 
seated, and to smoke my cigar there, I 
encountered the full tide of her volubility. 
Her discourse turned shortly on the jour- 
ney, and on her happiness in having caught 
the Diligence for Yoorthuizen ; and I am 
certain I do not exaggerate when I assure 
you that she asked at least ten times how 
long the Diligence still halted. Still, what- 
ever importance she might attach to her 
journey, the conductor’s warning had no 
power to move her from her cutlets. I 
suggested that it was time to be starting, 
and recommended her to leave the half 
cutlet, which she seemed bent on finishing, 
on her plate. But, although she rose from 
her seat, with many complaints of the 
tedium of public conveyances, and gath- 
ered up her mantle, which had fallen off, 
with one hand, she still kept hold of her 
fork with the other. I hastened to the 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


163 


door, and took my place inside. Just as 
we had passed over the long bridge, we 
heard a call of distress, and on looking 
out of the window, I saw in the distance 
the devourer of cutlets, accompanied by a 
waiter, both shouting and gesticulating 
with all their might, but in vain ; and in 
a few moments I lost sight of them. My 
fellow-traveller, who had observed the scene 
from the other window, now drew back his 
head, and said, “ How foolish it is, David, 
to lose the object of a journey for the sake 
of the refreshment at the station.” 

“ That is to be charged on the cutlets,” I 
replied. 

“ In nowise,” said Mr, Sybrand ; “ the ^ 
cutlets are as guiltless as you or I.” 

“ Yet they certainly were the cause of 
her forgetting the object of her journey.” 

‘‘ Not at all ; she did not forget it, for 
during the whole time she was eating she 
spoke of nothing else.” 


164 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


Tell me, then, what, according to your 
opinion, was the cause of her misfortune.” 

“ There were two causes. The first, that 
her desire of eating was stronger than her 
desire of travelling, therefore she preferred 
her seat by the cutlets to her seat in the 
Diligence, and liked far better to talk of 
her journey than to pursue it. At every 
mouthful she doubtless thought she should 
have time for the next — for that which we 
desire, seems always probable — hence the 
multitude of fallacies. Any strong bias 
alters the point of view, and then we see 
things, even first principles, askance. No 
doubt the lady imagined that the conductor 
would wait till she had enjoyed the last 
mouthful. Perhaps, unreasonable as it may 
seem, she even persuaded herself that she 
should overtake the Diligence. And it 
would not surprise me to find that she 
had calculated so far on the good nature 
of the conductor as to expect that he would 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


165 


come back for her when he found she was 
not in her place ; for, ‘ Oh, he won’t he 
so very exact ! ’ and, ‘ Oh, he will surely 
have a little mercy ! ’ are modes of speech 
that seem born with some men ; but while 
they are refreshing themselves at the sta- 
tion, the Diligence goes on — is gone beyond 
reach.” 

And the lady was only a minute too 
late, not more,” I observed. 

“ It matters not, my dear friend, so 
long as we are under the law of the road, 
whether we are one minute or ten hours 
too late. He who comes a little too late, 
and he who comes much too late, both miss 
the Diligence.” 

“ But surely there is some injustice in 
this, for the conductor might have waited 
the minute without involving any serious 
loss of time.” 

“Beware of laying the blame of injus- 
tice upon the conductor ! He might have 


166 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


waited, but he was in nowise pledged to 
do so. Least of all could the lady plead 
that she was ‘ so little too late ’ as a reason 
why the conductor should have waited for 
her. She had lost all the right, or claim, 
or whatever you may please to call it ; and 
if the conductor had taken her in, it would 
have been purely an act of favor on his 
part.’’ 

“ Happy the traveller,” exclaimed I, 
“ that has a conductor of whose favor he 
is assured. Such an one will neither miss 
the Diligence, nor the object of his jour- 
ney.” 

“ Certainly; but such a conductor is only 
desirable for people who care more for trav- 
elling than for eating, and whose heart is so 
entirely set upon the object of the journey 
that refreshments by the way are matters 
altogether of secondary importance.” 

‘‘ You said there were two reasons for the 
lady’s delay.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


167 


“ The second is very simple. She cer- 
tainly was not travelling with the idea of 
meeting her father, and of entering on an 
inheritance, or she would have given up 
the cutlets.’’ 

‘‘You are right,” I rejoined, laughing; 
“ I left my wine on the table ; indeed, I 
was listening anxiously for the conductor’s 
signal.” 

“ There, again, what a difference between 
two travellers! I saw a frown pass over 
the lady’s brow while you eagerly seized 
your hat. And this is no cause of surprise. 
You, in your anxiety to attain the object of 
your journey, would gladly have passed a 
dozen refreshment stations, whereas she had 
no inheritance to leave her cutlets for, and 
thus she was satisfied with talking about 
her journey, while you were longing to 
prosecute it.” 


168 


THE INHEKITANCE, AND 




IT IS MERE FOLLY TO SEEK TO ATTAIN AN END BY ANY 
EFFORTS OF OUR OWN, AVIIEN WE CAN ONLY ATTAIN 
IT BY FAVOR OF ANOTHER. 


While we weve thus discoursing, the 
Diligence made a sudden halt, and we over- 
heard the following conversation between 
the conductor and a passing stranger : 

“ Can you not walk as far as Voorthuizen, 
friend ?” said the former. 

“ I should not get there before to-morrow 
morning,” was the reply ; for my foot is 
sprained, and it pains me so that I can 
hardly stand.” 

“ But, my friend, we have no room on 
the box ; there are already three of us here, 
as you see.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


169 


“ Well, and what harm would it do if I 
were to get inside ? There ’s plenty of room 
there. Have pity on me. I would willingly 
pay you, but I have only a penny in my 
pocket.” 

The conductor paused for a moment, then 
bending toward us, said, “ If the ladies and 
gentlemen have no objection.” 

“ Not the slightest,” was the unanimous 
answer. 

The conductor jumped down, opened the 
door, and in a twinkling the stranger was 
seated among us. He had a good coun- 
tenance, and was plainly but respectably 
dressed. 

‘‘Plague on it!” he exclaimed, wiping 
his forehead with one hand, while with the 
other he felt his lame foot, “that was a 
terrible adventure.” 

“You appear to have met with an acci- 
dent,” said I. 

“It was an accident indeed, sir, and 


15 


170 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


I can’t comprehend how I escaped as I 
did.” 

“ What was it ? ” asked several ladies at 
once. 

‘‘You must know, ladies,” said he with 
the sprain, “ that this morning early, I and 
a neighbor set out for Leusden, having 
heard that Mr. Yast, the great manufac- 
turer, was to be at the inn at Milgen this 
afternoon between four and five, to hire 
ten fresh hands. As we were both seeking 
bread for our wives and children, this was 
good news to us, for we are both used 
to factory work. Of course it was to be 
expected that there would be more than 
ten candidates; but I thought I might 
expect some favor, as my wife is in some 
way connected with Mr. Vast’s family, 
and he has often helped us out of trouble 
before, when matters have been at the 
worst with us. And now it was in his 
power to give me a place in his factory; 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


171 


but one must know how to deal with him, 
— he has a way of his own. I was sure 
of his accepting my neighbor, too, just 
because he is my neighbor ; but then w^e 
must make sure of being in time, for, if we 
reached Milgen after the hour, Mr. Vast 
would be away, and then the nearest rela- 
tionship would be of no avail. So I said 
to my neighbor, ‘ Hans, we must be off 
betimes, in order that we may n’t be too 
late.’ And we had already got as far as 
Amersfort, when who should we see coming 
rattling along, with his four racers, but the 
wild Baron, as we call him. ‘ Hans,’ cried 
I, for the road was narrow, ‘ get on the 
other side of the ditch, for if he can run 
over you he will.’ ‘Nay, nay,’ was his 
reply, ‘ the Baron is not so bad as that ; 
I sha’n’t put myself to the trouble of the 
leap, but stay in the road.’ He stood still 
for a moment, and the flying chariot came 
nearer and nearer, with a cry of ‘ Clear 


172 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


the way ! clear the way ! ’ I was so dazzled 
that I sprang forwards, hoping to clear the 
ditch. At the same instant I heard a shriek 
from Hans, and as I myself lay prostrate 
on the ground, I looked round and saw 
that he had fallen down. I rose and strove 
to walk, but could not, for my right foot 
was sprained. I limped along to the next 
bridge, and there I saw Hans coming to 
me, not less crippled than myself. 

‘ Hans,’ cried I, ‘ I Ve sprained my foot. 
What has happened to you ? ’ 

‘‘ ‘ Ugh ! Ugh ! ’ groaned Hans, ‘ the nave 
of the wheel struck me, and if it has not 
broken my thigh-bone it ’s a wonder, — I 
can hardly move.’ 

“We seated ourselves by the wayside 
and examined our wounds. The blood was 
running into his stocking. I washed the 
wound with water from the ditch, poured 
into it a little brandy I had with me, and 
bound it up with my handkerchief as well 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


173 


as I could. I then rubbed my own foot 
with a bit of lard that my wife had given 
me to eat with my bread. Thus revived a 
little, we got up, and limped a few steps 
forward. ‘ Hans,’ said I, ‘ it won’t do ; we 
shall never get to Milgen at this rate.’ 

But what are we to do?’ replied he ; 
‘ sit still here ? — that won’t help us much.’ 

“‘No,’ said I, ‘we will not certainly sit 
here till our wounds are healed, but I 
mean to wait for the Diligence that passes 
hard by.’ 

“‘A likely thing!’ he rejoined; ‘what 
have you got to pay with ? ’ 

“ ‘ Nothing, as you well know ; but the 
conductor I know is a kind man, who will 
gladly help a poor fellow if he can.’ 

“‘Ay, ay,’ he rejoined; ‘and so you 
really mean to trust to the mercy of the 
conductor, and expect to travel like a gen- 
tleman in the Diligence, which is only for 
rich people, — a likely matter, truly 1 ’ 

15 * 


174 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


“ ‘ But what do you propose, then ? ’ 

“ ‘ To use my best efforts to get to Milgen 
on my own legs,’ was his reply. 

“‘But you are worse than I am. It 
would be easier for me to walk there upon 
my sprained foot than for you, and I shall 
make no further effort on my own strength, 
for I am sure it is impossible that we should 
arrive in time.’ With these words, I seated 
myself on the grass to await the passing of 
the Diligence. 

“‘Did I ever see such a lazy fellow!’ 
cried Hans, angrily, and standing up before 
me. 

“ ‘ Lazy 1 ’ rejoined I, a little discomposed. 

“‘Yes, lazy! How can you think of 
getting on so luxuriously ? Come, come ! 
stand up and do your best, and see how far 
you can travel. Perhaps you’ll manage 
better than you expect.’ 

“‘Hans,’ said I, ‘you know very well 
that Mr. Vast is a man that must have 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


175 


everything to the minute. If we are not at 
Milgen before five o’clock, our whole jour- 
ney is in vain. Moreover, you must have 
a very inadequate notion of the extent of 
your wounds, if you can fancy it possible^ 
after all this delay, to get there in time. 
I shall sit quietly still, and expect, not- 
withstanding, to reach Milgen before three 
o’clock. Why, you could hardly do it 
running.’ 

‘ You say this because you ’ve made up 
your own mind to do it so easily,’ retorted 
Hans, peevishly. ‘ I am going on, and you 
must look to yourself there in the grass.’ 
He staggered five or six paces forwards, 
evidently in great pain. 

“‘Hans,’ I cried, ‘think what you are 
doing. You may spare yourself all this 
suffering and trouble, and get to Milgen in 
good time too, if you will only ask the 
conductor to favor you.’ 

^“‘Very well,’ he replied, looking back 


176 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


at me. ^ In the meanwhile, I will exert 
myself to the uttermost, and if I come 
short, the conductor will help me the more 
readily, because the distance will be less.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, thou fool ! ’ I shouted after him, 
‘ as though it could signify to the conductor 
whether the horses draw you a mile more 
or less. Since we must be carried to our 
destination on other legs than our own, it 
is folly indeed to work ourselves to death 
in the meantime, my friend ! ’ ” 

Just as our suffering companion had 
reached this point in his story, the Dili- 
gence suddenly halted. I looked out of the 
window, and saw a man stretched on the 
grass, and talking to the conductor. ‘‘ Ah, 
Hans!” exclaimed the other — but Hans 
averted his eyes, and went on talking to 
the conductor. 

‘‘In this fashion, I might fill the Dili- 
gence with beggars,” said the latter. 

“ Ah 1 ” ejaculated Hans, in a pitiful voice. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


177 


now and then interrupted by a groan. “ Ah ! 
my good sir, you have taken pity on my 
friend ; I beseech you take pity on me also.” 

“ And so on a third ; and who can tell 
how many between this and Milgen ? Why 
did you not come with your friend?” 

‘‘Because I wanted to see how far I 
could get on — but I can do no more. I 
am sinking.” 

“Was that the true reason? Couldn’t 
you trust me for a large favor, as well as a 
small one?” 

“Yes — but — I thought — perhaps you 
— would not” — 

“ Stop a bit,” said the conductor. “Aha! 
I know you of old, friend ! You arc a bad 
one. Your conscience smote you. You 
are the man who yesterday refused to 
fasten the curb-chain of one of our leaders 
that had got undone, between Naarden 
and Amersfort. And so you thought I 
would return evil for evil ! But that I 


178 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


should not have done, if with your friend 
here you had trusted me ; for all Amers- 
fort knows that I am ever ready to help a 
man out of his trouble. Now you must 
get along as you can. Forward ! ” — 

David ! ” said Mr. Sybrand, in the 
little parlor of the Inn at Voorthuizen, 
“it is mere folly to seek to attain an 
object by our own efforts, when it is only 
to be had as a favor.’^ 

“ You are right,” I replied; “men work 
themselves to death, and yet come short 
at the last.” 

“ And, moreover,” he continued, “ they 
do but make matters worse, by every step 
they take.” 

“ And yet it is not well to sit still and 
complain. We should thus deserve the 
reproach of laziness.” 

“ My friend ! there is a sitting still that 
is the result of wisdom. All that the wise 
man has to do is to be at the appointed 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


179 


place at the right hour. And if he perceive 
that sitting still will forward his journey 
rather than running, he will sit still, though 
all the world should call him lazy.” 

“And, on the other hand,” I observed, 
“ there i& a running which is the effect of 
an evil conscience.” 

“ And of its consequent mistrust,” said 
my friend. “ Besides,” he continued, “ when 
a man is once seated in the Diligence 
through the favor of the conductor, so that 
by merely sitting still he reaches his desti- 
nation at the appointed time, he may still 
employ his other faculties, although for all 
the use his limbs are of, they might as well 
be dead.” 

“ That is perfectly true ; and it would 
be equally foolish, when once inside, to 
work in the hope of making our arrival 
more certain.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mr. Sybrand ; “ and in 
general there are many other ways of 


180 


THE inheritance, AND 


passing the time, whereby we may help 
and please others; and all the work that 
is to be done to keep the Diligence going, 
must be left to the conductor.’’ 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


181 


Hint. 

SHOWING THAT IN ORDER TO BE TRULY AND BERMA- 
NENTLY CHEERFUL UPON A JOURNEY, IT IS NOT 
ENOUGH TO PRESUME UPON A HAPPY ISSUE TO OUR 
UNDERTAKING AS PROBABLE : WE MUST ANTICIPATE 
IT AS CERTAIN, ELSE IT NEVER CAN INSPIRE A 
DURABLE JOY. 


We now reseated ourselves in the Dili- 
gence, and continued our journey. Oppo- 
site to me sat a man who certainly had 
nothing in his outward appearance to 
excite interest, but this was the very thing 
that drew my attention to him. I whis- 
pered to Mr. Sybrand, “ This man has not, 
I am sure, a single thought in his head, 
or if he has, he is thinking what that 
thought should be.’^ 

“Possibly,” answered Mr. Sybrand, in 
the same tone ; “ but if I am not much 


16 


182 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


mistaken, the man’s condition at this very 
moment is one divided between hope and 
fear.” 

‘‘ And whence do you infer this?” 

“ From a circumstance that I remarked 
in the public room at Yoorthuizen. He 
several times drew a letter out of his 
pocket, which he read with evident emo- 
tion.” 

“ Perhaps,” said I, with a smile, ‘‘ he too 
is travelling towards an inheritance.” 

“ We shall have no difficulty in finding 
out his secret,” replied Mr. Sybrand. “You 
have only to enter into conversation with 
him, and the chief concern of his heart 
— unless indeed it be a deep one — will 
soon be apparent to you.” 

I immediately began to converse with 
my neighbor, but with no particular result. 
It is true that I soon found out what his 
calling was, how large a family lie had, 
and what were his opinions upon politics 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


183 


and public questions, but I obtained no 
insight into the object of his journey. I 
often glanced towards Mr. Sybrand, who 
kept smiling to himself. At last he helped 
me out of my difficulty by joining in our 
discourse. 

“You are going, I presume, to Deven- 
ter?’’ said he to the man I had been cross- 
examining. 

“ On a visit,” was the reply. 

“ It is always pleasant to travel if one 
has prosperous business in hand.” 

“ Your remark is very just,” returned 
the other, “ if one knows this ; but if he 
does not know, travelling is by no means 
an agreeable occupation.” 

“ There you are equally in the right,” 
was Mr. Sybrand’s answer ; “ but do you, 
then, not know it?” 

“ To say the truth, I do not ! ” replied 
the other, with a sigh. “ I find myself in 
peculiar circumstances. I have been accus- 


184 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


tomed to do business to a large extent with 
a certain merchant in Deventer, and, to 
make a long story short, it has turned out 
so ill, that I am a debtor to him for two 
thousand guilders, for which I have yearly 
to pay high interest. As security for the 
sum I owe, I have made over to my creditor 
a bond for ten thousand guilders from 
another merchant ; but as the latter, on 
account of certain former money transac- 
tions, enjoys but little credit, this bond has 
proved of no great value. However, it was 
all I had to offer as security, and he con- 
sented to accept it. In the course of the 
last five years he has twice presented it, 
without receiving payment. But, only 
think ! he now suddenly writes me that the 
other merchant is ready to discharge the 
bond, and therefore he invites me to come 
over as soon as possible to settle matters 
with him.’^ 

‘‘Well, this is indeed a happy issue!’’ 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


185 


exclaimed I ; ‘^you will thus have to receive 
eight thousand guilders.” 

“ Ah ! ” replied my travelling companion, 
“ if I were only sure of this, there would 
not be a more cheerful man than I in this 
Diligence. But I place little reliance upon 
the writer of the letter. I have but too 
much reason to fear that this is only a 
stratagem on his part to allure me to De- 
venter in order to force me to other steps 
with regard to the two thousand guilders, 
for whicli, perhaps, I shall liave to pay still 
higher interest. He has often tried before 
now to get me over to Deventer, but he lias 
never succeeded. He has also paid me 
several visits, but I have always taken care 
to deny myself. Meanwhile, in all his 
letters hitherto, he has gone on complaining 
of the low rate of interest that he receives 
from me, and yet I pay him seven per cent. 
This is the reason that I sit here divided be- 
tween liope and fear, and know not whether 
16 * 


186 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


to wish that the horses should go backwards 
or forwards.’’ 

“ I must confess to you,” said I, “ that I 
have hitherto wondered much at your saying 
so little about the object of your journey.” 

“ No wonder,” replied he ; “ I am not 
much inclined to speak about my affairs, 
and for this reason, that I myself am in 
uncertainty about them. Consequently I 
prefer thinking and speaking of things 
about which I am able to speak and think 
with some degree of certainty. A ray of 
hope that the letter may, after all, be 
true, often shines upon me, and then I 
feel happier ; for those eight thousand guil- 
ders would at once free me from all em- 
barrassment. But, on the other hand, a fear 
seizes me that when I arrive in Deventer 
I may be obliged to decide upon the sale 
of my whole property, and then I shall be 
perfectly ruined. This keeps me in a per- 
petual alternation between hope and fear ; 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


187 


and such a state is so painful, that I am 
only too glad to banish from my mind 
Deventer and all that it contains.’’ 

My friend,” said Mr. Sybrand, the 
reason of this is simply that you do not 
believe the letter in your possession.” 

You are right,” replied the other ; “ if 
I only could believe it ! Are you able to 
inspire me with so much faith ? ” asked he, 
with a smile. 

“ By no means ; but this gentleman,” 
returned Mr. Sybrand, pointing to me, 
“ has also received a letter from Deventer, 
which gives him a feeling of rejoicing 
throughout the whole of his journey. In 
it his father assures him that he has been 
declared the heir of a rich aunt.” 

‘‘No wonder, then,” cried the merchant; 
“ who would not rejoice at such prospects?” 

“ Yet he would have as little cause for 
rejoicing as you, if he did not believe the 
letter. But he does believe it, and that, 


188 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


observe, is all the difference between him 
and you,” 

I beg your pardon,” said the merchant ; 
‘‘ I by no means assert that my letter is 
false. I, on the contrary, do believe that 
all it contains may be true.” 

^^May be true ! But this, my friend, is 
not believing — this is doubting ; and doubt- 
ing is the direct opposite of faith. What, 
then, is the reason of your doubting^ while 
this gentleman believes ? ” 

The merchant pondered for a moment 
or two, and then said : “ The reason is 
very natural. If my letter were from my 
father, as this gentleman’s is from his, 
I should not for an instant have a doubt 
about it.” 

“So it is,” replied Mr. Sybrand ; “ you 
are not the son of him who has written 
you the letter in question. And thus we 
see, that in order to be really and abidingly 
cheerful on our journey, it is not enough 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


189 


to presume upon a happy issue to our 
undertakings as probable; we must antici- 
pate it as certain, else it can never inspire 
a durable joy.” 


190 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


SHOWING THAT HE WHO IS NOT WANTING IN FAITH, 
WILL NOT BE WANTING IN PRACTICE: ONE WHO 
POSSESSES AN UNWAVERING HOPE, POSSESSES ALSO 
A CONQUERING ENERGY. 


During this conversation the Diligence 
had come to a sudden stand. A woman 
of a needy appearance, with a child in her 
arms, stood in the pouring rain, imploring 
the coachman to take her on with him, as 
she was tired to death, and her child was 
sick besides. 

It is impossible ! ” cried he. “ The 
Diligence is full. There is not another 
place in it.” 

Alas ! ” lamented the poor woman. 

Alas ! do have mercy upon my poor 
child. At least take the innocent lamb 
with you ; his teeth are chattering with 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


191 


ague, and I am afraid of his dying in my 
arms. Alas ! is there not one mother in 
the Diligence who will take my child with 
her for the love of God ? If it could only 
he got as far as Milgen, and given in charge 
to the Innkeeper there, it would he saved, 
for that man knows me well.” 

“ My good woman,” replied the coach- 
man, my heart is well inclined toward 
you, but I cannot help you. The Diligence 
is as full as an egg. And, besides, I cannot 
possibly take you without your paying your 
fare, for I have already one passenger gratis 
to answer for. If you can pay, there is 
room on the box.” 

‘‘ Alas ! ” she replied, my poor child ! ” 
And then she began to weep bitterly, till 
her tears, mingled with the rain, ran down 
her cheeks. I never could see a woman’s 
distress unmoved. This spectacle affected 
me deeply. “ Coachman ! ” cried I, let 
tlie good woman occupy my place. I will 


192 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


come upon the box, and pay for her.” This 
exchange of seats only occupied a few mo- 
ments, and we set off again. It seems, 
thought I, as the rain heat in my face, that 
it always costs some sacrifice or other to 
get forward in the world. Those who 
occupy a high position have most to suffer 
from the rain, and wind, and tempest.” 

“ It is very wet, sir,” said the coachman ; 
while I, nota hena^ all wrapped up as I was 
in my camlet cloak, looked like a living 
waterfall. 

“ No mistake about that,” said I. 

‘‘ And do you know what it requires 
great sldll to do up here ? ” 

‘‘ To keep dry,” answered I. 

‘‘No mistake about that, either,” said 
my companion, who, in his greatcoat of 
coarse brown cloth, might be said to re- 
mind one forcibly of a morass. “ But,” 
continued he, “ I will tell you a third 
truth ; before you have done with it, you 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


193 


will be sorry that you have taken this 
place. The box seat is by no means a 
pleasant one. It is now four and twenty 
years that I have looked on the world from 
a height, and I do assure you that I often 
envy the pot of grease which dangles below 
the wagon.” 

Hereupon my talkative companion began 
to give me the whole history of his life, 
which picture entirely cured me of any 
longing I might have had to be a coach- 
man ; and when we arrived at Milgen, the 
pleasure of getting down from my lofty 
perch quite reconciled me to my lower 
position in society. 

Now, then,” said my friend, as I once 
more took my place amidst my fellow-trav- 
ellers of the Diligence, “ I greet you as a 
dethroned prince. That was indeed an act 
of heroism on your part.” 

‘‘ I do not at all regret it,” said I, “ for I 
have learnt no longer to envy those in high 


17 


194 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


places, and to content myself with the back 
seat of a Diligence.” 

‘‘ It was not the less a very generous 
action,” said the merchant ; “ you really 
deserve all praise.” 

‘‘ I by no means agree to this,” replied I ; 
‘‘ I have no doubt that you will do just the 
same another time.” 

“ To confess the truth,” said he, “ when. 
I saw the woman stand there, bemoaning 
herself, I thought to myself. Well, you, too, 
might pay for her, and take your seat on 
the box ! But the fact is, that I can so ill 
spare the money, that even the half fare 
was a consideration with me.” 

“ Have you not, then, got so imich money 
as that with you ? ” asked I. 

“ Doubtless I have. Else how could I 
pay for my sojourn in Deventer, and my 
journey back ; but yet I was afraid that it 
might have embarrassed me if I had paid 
for that woman.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


195 


“ Certainly,” said Mr. Sybrand ; “ if you 
bad only been able to believe the letter in 
your pocket, these difficulties would never 
have arisen in your mind. But you, Da- 
vid,” said he, turning to me as he spoke, 
“tell me, now, why you never hesitated 
about doing what our fellow-traveller feared 
to undertake ? A short time ago you would 
have felt as little inclined to the step as 
he.” 

“ Most certainly I should,” answered I ; 
“ for the fear of embarrassment would 
equally have held me back. But now, I 
thought to myself, ‘ Come on ! thou art 
going to such a rich future that thou may- 
est well afford to help this poor woman, 
even if it cost thee all the money that thou 
hast about thee now ; ’ and as for the place 
on the box, why, thought I, ‘ It is but for a 
little time.’ Very soon I shall arrive at 
my father’s, and when once more at home, 
I shall quite forget rain and wind, storm 


196 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


and tempest, in the sight of the cheerful 
fire, and the well-spread table there ; and 
if my father should ask me why my cloak 
is so wet, my hat so battered, my hair so 
blown about, and my limbs so cold, I know 
that he will be pleased when he hears the 
reason.” 

“ No doubt,” said the merchant ; “ and 
if my letter had afforded me such a deliglit- 
ful prospect, I should never have inquired 
whether I was to get myself wet or not, or 
to spend a little money, more or less.” 

But there is no lack of cheering pros- 
pects in your letter,” remarked Mr. Sy- 
brand. 

“ I own that ; but I cannot risk much 
upon them.” 

And why not ? ” 

‘‘ Because I have not much faith in the 
letter itself.” 

“ Here again,” continued Mr. Sybrand, 
“ you see the reason of the differences be- 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


197 


tween the conduct of you two. You are 
wanting in beliefs and therefore you are 
wanting in practice. You have no assured 
hope, and therefore you have no conquering 
strength. He who doubts about his future, 
is throughout life doubting and wavering, 
and unfit for action ; because, while he is 
calculating and considering, he constantly 
lets the time for action go by. I repeat it ; 
— in order gladly to submit to any self- 
sacrifice — in order to triumph over rain, 
storms, and tempests — it is not enough to 
wish a happy future, or to suppose it proba- 
ble. No, oh no ! We must be fully per- 
suaded of the certainty of our inheritance.” 

17 # 


198 


THE INHETITTANCE, AND 


SHOWING THAT THERE IS NO ONE EVER SO DISCON- 
TENTED, BUT BELIEVES THAT HE HAS GOOD CAUSE 
TO BE SO. 

While we were thus conversing, our 
attention was called to one of the travel- 
lers, who occupied the hindermost corner of 
the Diligence, and kept continually moving 
one way or other, first leaning backward, 
then forward, — now opening the right 
window, now the left, and muttering in 
his beard the while. It appeared to us 
all that this man was in no good temper, 
and that he was a "sdctim of chronic dis- 
content. 

“You do not seem to find yourself com- 
fortable here, sir,” said Mr. Sybrand, ad- 
dressing him. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


199 


“By no means,” muttered the other. 
“This confounded window will not shut, 
and the other sticks as fast as a rusty lock. 
Life on a journey is a wretched thing.” 

“ One must accommodate a little,” said 
my fellow-traveller. 

“ What ? accommodate ! Why, we have 
to contend with all the elements here. On 
my left the drops of rain fall on my face. 
This wretched pane of glass has had no 
putty for a century. On my right a very 
hurricane blows into my ear: it is as 
though there were a bellows at work out- 
side the carriage. And now, I only ask 
you to remark tbe clouds of cigar smoke 
in which we are sitting. We shall get out 
presenting the appearance of so many dried 
herrings.” 

“ But, my good sir, should we not be 
glad to have even the shelter of the Dili- 
gence ? ” 

“ Glad ! ” exclaimed the discontented 


200 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


man, who impatiently cut short the thread 
of Mr. Sy brand’s discourse. “ Glad, indeed ! 
— glad in a Diligence ! Why, there is no 
life more wretched than that which one 
leads in a Diligence. One is in much the 
same plight here as the meat which the 
Tartars place under their saddles by way 
of cooking it. We are condemned to sit 
continually in the attitude of a bayonet. 
We have to undergo the most unnatural 
transformation ; for one enters a butterfly, 
and comes out a caterpillar. No, no ! do 
not speak to me of any gladness in a Dili- 
gence ; but place me in one, if you wish 
to torture me ! ” And so saying, he threw 
himself grumblingly back into his place, 
which seemed after all to be a comfortable 
enough corner. 

I never in all my life saw such a dis- 
contented being,” whispered I to Mr. Sy- 
brand ; “I do declare that the man has 
the best place of us all.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


201 


“ There must, however, be a cause for it,” 
answered my friend, in the same whispering 
tone. “ No one is discontented without at 
least believing that he has good reason for 
it. At all events, I discern one thing 
plainly, — that this man is not journeying 
towards an inheritance.” 

“ But,” said Mr. Sybrand to the discon- 
tented traveller, “ in your place I would at 
least endeavor to sleep.” 

“ To sleep! ” cried the murmurer ; “any- 
where except in a Diligence ! To sleep in 
a Diligence is to lose every trace of deco- 
rum, for one collapses like a worn-out 
portmanteau. One dreams that he is a 
wax-light, and awakes to find himself a 
hoop. If you sleep in a Diligence, you must 
needs wake up to rest.” 

“ I give in,” replied Mr. Sybrand, “ and 
allow that in travelling, especially by the 
Diligence, one must often meet with many 
inconveniences and discomforts. But for- 


202 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


tunately these are of little consequence, 
when we remember how short a time they 
last. We shall soon be at our destination, 
and then we may rest from all our fatigues, 
in our father’s house, or in the mansions 
freely provided for strangers.” 

“ Very pleasant, indeed,” said the other, 
morosely. “ I only wish this were the case I 
If I knew that all this misery would be over 
in a few hours or a few weeks, I should be 
quite at my ease, even if the rain wet me 
through, and the wind dried me up to a 
mummy. But I am very differently cir- 
cumstanced from the most of my fellow- 
travellers, who may probably be about to 
take up their abode with parents or with 
kind friends. I have now sat for twelve 
years, day and night, I may say, between 
the spokes of the wheels, for I am a trav- 
eller for different mercantile houses. It is 
true, that there are several of my com- 
panions in the calling who have got accus- 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


20i 


tomed to this miserable life, and who even 
find themselves perfectly happy in it. But 
then, they have totally different prospects 
from mine ; they expect one day to travel 
on their own account, and have not the 
same heavy expenses. But I am obliged 
to journey constantly by day and night to 
earn mere bread for my wife and my four 
children, whom I hardly see once in three 
years. True, when I am old and laid by, 
I shall be able to go to them, not, however, 
to rest after all my fatigues, but only to 
drag on a life still more wretched than that 
I spend in this horrible Diligence.” 

As he ended these words, we arrived at 
the village of Apeldoorn. In the Inn, Mr. 
Sybrand said to me, “ David, the discontent 
of our fellow-traveller is become very intel- 
ligible to me.” 

“ The man has a heavy burden to carry,” 
replied I. 

‘‘ It does not appear to me that that is so 


204 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


much the cause of his discontent. But he 
has no prospects. He wants the cheering, 
comforting hope of the future. There is no 
going home at his journey’s end. He has 
no kind of rest to look forward to, where he 
is sure, beyond possibility of doubt, to find 
peace after all his fatigues.” 

Poor man!” said I, moved to my very 
soul, “had he but a father waiting for 
him with open arms, had he but an inheri- 
tance that had devolved upon him, with 
what perfectly different feelings he would 
travel ! ” 

“ No doubt of it,” rejoined Mr. Sybrand. 
“ If one have no going home at the jour- 
ney’s end, he seeks rest during the journey, 
— then the Diligence becomes his home, his 
abiding-place. He thus requires from this 
unsteady conveyance all the comforts and 
conveniences which are only to be met with 
in a well-founded and strongly built house. 
He demands windows without a draught, 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


205 


and seats that never jolt. And as it is 
impossible that a temporary and moving 
residence such as this should present all 
the conditions of a firm and permanent 
abode, he finds disappointment in all, and 
every single thing affords occasion for vexa- 
tion and discontent. The glance is not 
directed onward to the glorious future, 
which would enable him to bear the pres- 
ent trials with patience ; but it is, on the 
contrary, fixed upon the present, upon 
surrounding things. Each trifle, then, be- 
comes important, because one must continue 
to live on thus without any hope of better 
companionship in the future. Everything is 
measured in its whole length and breadth, 
and its weight carefully ascertained. And 
whilst we require from the Diligence what 
we can only find in a stationary and perma- 
nent dwelling, every one of its defects will 
be more and more keenly felt the longer 
we contemplate it.” 


18 


206 


THE INllEUlTANCE, AND 


“ I can well imagine this,” said I. “ If 
one is sure of a happy future, he can be 
indifferent to what is present. But without 
this future he must needs be bound up in 
present things.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


207 


€^u^in Cixrilijf. 

NOT ALL THE JOT ON THE ROAD IS THE TRUE JOY. 

I WAS the last to get in. Just as the 
conductor was closing the door, a voice was 
heard calling “ Halt ! I too am going with 
you.” 

Why did you not take care to be in 
time, then ? ” said the conductor, rather 
sharply, but at the same time opening the 
door. 

The new traveller came singing into the 
carriage, greeted his fellow-passengers with 
a pleasant smile, and seated himself oppo- 
site to me. 

‘‘ I was very nearly being too late,” said 
he, taking breath, and wiping his forehead 


208 THE INIIEIUTANCE, AND 

with a red silk handkerchief that he took 
out of his pocket. 

“ Travellers must keep time,” said a fel- 
low-passenger sitting next to him. 

‘‘ So ho, there is time and leisure,’’ said 
the other, laughing. A man can’t reckon 
everything to a minute. If I have to go 
anywhere, I am sure to get there, somehow 
or other.” 

‘‘ Say not so, friend,” rejoined his neigh- 
bor, ‘‘ lest thou shouldst come to evil. 
There are some things that must be done 
to the minute, and he who does not come 
in at the proper time, may find that the 
pot has boiled over.” 

“ Yery good .... And then a man must 
fast, which is sometimes very advantageous 
to health.” And so saying, he began to 
sing — 

* Begone, dull care, 

I prithee begone from me/ 


“Hush! hush!” said the other, inters 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


209 


rupting his song ; thou wouldst not per- 
haps have lost much hadst thou missed 
the Diligence. It may be, however, thou 
wouldst have wept to have come too late, 
since thou hast now taken to singing.” 

‘‘ Wept ! wept ! ” said the other, “ that I 
never did in all my life. 

‘Taste life’s gay moments, 

While yet the taper glows.’ 

“ Moreover,” he continued, after singing 
two more verses, if I get to Deventer to- 
morrow, well ; if I get there the day after, 
still it is not too late. For it stands on a 
firm foundation, and will not run away.” 

‘‘ Ah ! it is a bride thou art fetching 
home,” rejoined his neighbor. 

The man of mirth looked waggishly at 
him, and began to sing — 

“ Alas ! I am a married man, 

A married man, a married man.” 


18 * 


210 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


“ Then it is a purse full of money.” 

“ What ! money ? ” replied the singer, 
with affected indifference. “ What have I 
to do with money ? 

‘ Have I gold, or have I none? 

To me indeed it is all one/ ” 

“Very likely, indeed ; the tone of your 
voice belies you. Be candid now, perhaps 
it is an inheritance?” 

The mystery was solved, and with it the 
cause of the boisterous mirth of our fel- 
low-traveller. He had taken a lottery- 
ticket at Deventer, and it had been drawn 
a prize. 

“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Mr. Sybrand, 
“ that is a piece of luck which thousands 
fail of.” 

“ I believe you,” replied the lucky man. 
“I sprang full six feet from the ground, 
when I read it in the Crazette, Indeed, I 
had forgotten that I had a ticket, for it 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


211 


was two months since my wife had bought it 
at the door. I happened to be sitting with 
my master at the public house, took up the 
Gazette^ and what should I read there but 
my own number, with a prize of forty 
thousand guilders opposite it. Now I sel- 
dom take a paper in my hand, for I am 
only a journeyman butcher, and but a poor 
scholar. But just then the thought of my 
ticket came into my head, and I fancied I 
might see something about it; and when 
I saw the long number, I begged the loan 
of the paper, and ran with it to my wife. 
She fetched our ticket out of the child’s 
money-box, where it had been lying, com- 
pared it with the paper, and — they matched 
exactly ! ” — 

“Well, that was indeed a fine prize ! ” 
exclaimed Mr. Sybrand; “and can your 
wife read ? ” 

“ Slie learned in her youth, for her par- 
ents gave her a good education. But, to 


212 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


speak the truth, after she went to service, 
and later, since she was married to me, she 
has not had time for much reading. Still, 
when she sets herself to it, she can read 
without much spelling.” 

‘‘Have you the G-azette at hand?” said 
Mr. Sybrand. 

“Yes, surely,” was the reply; and tak- 
ing off his hat, the man pulled out the 
paper, and Mr. Sybrand read the lottery 
notice. 

“ May I also look at your ticket ? ” he 
inquired. The man hesitated, but a glance 
at Mr. Sybrand’s honest countenance re^ 
sured him ; nevertheless, while the former 
was holding it against the paper, the anx- 
ious owner of the important document 
carefully kept a corner of it tightly grasped 
between his finger and thumb. 

In the meanwhile, I saw by my friend’s 
countenance that all was not right. The 
traveller could not share my impression, as 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


213 


Mr. Sybrand’s face was hidden from him 
by the paper — but my friend now gave me 
a side look, ominously putting down his 
lower lip. 

“ Now, my good friend,” said he, return- 
ing the papers to their owner, “ I hope, 
when you get to Deventer, you may not 
find that you have been deceived ! ” 

“ Impossible ! ” cried the other, settling 
his hat firmly on his head, “unless the 
Gazette tells lies.” 

“ I don’t think that. But suppose that 
you and your wife should have misread the 
notice.” 

“ What ! both of us ? both read wrong ? 
— and not only we, but three of our friends 
who have seen it. And that we should all 
five have read it wrong ! ” 

“ It is very possible, my friend, if you are 
all unpractised readers.” 

“But are you yourself a good reader?” 

“ There may be better, but still I am pre- 


214 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


pared to affirm that I can read a newspaper 
correctly.” 

“ And how did you read it ? ” asked the 
other, anxiously. 

‘‘ No, my friend ! Let me not rob you of 
your joy before the time.” 

“ Yes, yes ! — tell me at once ! — does it 
not agree with, the Gazette V* 

“ It appears to me that you have made 
a slight mistake — but I do not wish to 
pursue the matter.” 

But Mr. Sybrand was not allowed to come 
off thus. The paper and the ticket were 
again produced, and my friend put them 
into my hands. I read one as 17,409 — the 
other as 17,408. 

It was evident that the poor man had 
read eight for nine ; an error into which 
an inexperienced reader might the more 
readily have fallen, from an accidental turn 
in the tail of the nine, which gave the 
figure rather the appearance of an eight. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


215 


When the poor fellow heard my confir- 
mation of the verdict, he turned pale ; and 
moving himself, he gave both papers to his 
neighbor to read. This gentleman, winking 
at ns over the paper, said as he returned it, 
“ Don’t be uneasy, my friend ! These gen- 
tlemen are making merry at your expense.” 

‘‘Ah, I believe it! ” said the ticket-holder, 
taking a long breath. 

“Believe me, my friend,” said Mr. Sy- 
brand, “ we have dealt honestly with you. 
We wished to spare you the shock of a 
surprise in Deventer which might be inju- 
rious to you. Believe me, we have told 
you the truth.” 

But these earnest words of my friend 
were again turned aside by the light jesting 
of the former speaker. After some skir- 
mishing between these two, Mr. Sybrand 
requested him to test our judgment by an 
examination of the papers. They were 
accordingly produced once more, and now 


216 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


my friend pointed out to the owner the 
small white space, which was distinctly 
visible, between the bent tail and the upper 
stroke of the nine. The poor fellow was 
just prepared to give up the point, and 
his countenance had assumed an expression 
of the deepest dejection, when his neighbor 
said — 

‘‘ Don’t you see that these gentlemen are 
trying to frighten you about a mere trifle ? 
What difference can that space, on which 
they lay such stress, really make ? Doubt- 
less they are learned men, and used to 
splitting hairs ! ” 

“I think so too,” said the perplexed 
man. If it ’s only that little space, I 
don’t see why I should distress myself so 
very much about it. I thought that I was 
farther off than that ; and such a mere 
trifle is not worth troubling myself about, 
after all.” 

That is your affair ” said Mr. Sybrand ; 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


217 


you Tmist know it sooner or later. But I 
solemnly assure you that in Deventer you 
will find that you have been deceived.’’ 

“ So you, and the gentleman who sits by 
you, say,” rejoined the ticket-holder, snap- 
pishly ; “ on the other hand, my friend here 
is of a different opinion. Now this, with my 
wife and three comrades, makes six — and 
you are but two. It would bo odd enough 
that six should be wrong, and only you 
two right.” And with these words he re- 
placed the papers in his hat. Mr. Sybrand 
shrugged his shoulders in silence ; but for 
the rest of the way our lottery victim was 
a troublesome companion. He laughed at 
learned men, railed at the pride of the 
great, and at last began to vent his ill- 
humor on me, by very unpleasant encroach- 
ments of his feet and knees. I was right 
glad when we reached Twello. 

‘‘You see,” said Mr. Sybrand, as we 
alighted, “ that all joy is not true joy.” 

19 


218 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


‘‘ This man makes as sure of a happy 
result as I do,” replied I ; ‘‘ but his assur- 
ance is grounded solely on his own fancy.” 

“ It is indeed. And this is one of the sad- 
dest things that we meet with by the way. 
No traveller more deserves our pity than 
he who is journeying towards an imaginary 
inheritance, only to encounter at the end 
the sad realities of poverty. How terrible 
must be the awakening, when on his arrival 
the splendid illusions are utterly dispelled!” 

‘‘ Poor fellow ! I exclaimed ; ‘‘he gives 
himself up so joyously to this false hope.” 

“ And how did he first attain to this false 
hope ? Through a false faith ! The man 
began by believing in what is not written — 
while he refuses to believe what is written. 
It follows, of course, that his hope must 
be a false hope. The Deventer agent will 
make his payments, not according to what 
this man believes he has read, but according 
to the evidence of what he himself inserted 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT, 


219 


in tlie Gazette. If, indeed, our companion’s 
belief had been borne out by the word he 
had read, he would have received a noble 
inheritance ; but, his faith not being founded 
upon the word, it follows of necessity that 
all his riches are imaginary.” 

“And it is also worthy of observation,” 
I added, “how trifling the deviation was. 
How near he was to believing aright.” 

“ But what a wonderful difference this 
little deviation makes at the end ! The 
alteration of a single stroke, nay, even of a 
point, may change the rich inheritance into 
utter destitution. In matters of faith, dear 
friend, it is necessary carefully to weigh 
and warily to guard every letter of the 
evidence on which faith is founded. Inac- 
curacy and carelessness may lead to the 
most momentous consequences and the most 
painful delusions, and there is no greater 
folly than that of maintaining that ‘ things 
won’t be so very exactly looked into.’ ” 


220 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


“ The faith of our companion, however, 
contained four-fifths of truth to one-fifth of 
error.’’ 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” 

Of the five figures that he showed us, 
four were correct ; only the last, the 8, was 
incorrect.” 

“ Even so. You see, then, that they who 
hold only a part of the truth, though it be 
almost the whole truth, will find themselves 
deceived. Almost the whole truth, dear 
friend, leads to the very same result as 
entire falsehood ; and it even gives birth 
to the most painful illusions. If our com- 
panion had mistaken all the five figures, 
it could have led to no greater disappoint- 
ment on his arrival in Deventer than that 
which awaits him for having mistaken one. 
In both cases the agent refuses to pay him 
the money.” 

‘‘ It is sad to think that simple people 
may be so easily deceived,” I replied. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 221 


“ I pray you do not call this man simple. 
Where the evidence on which faith is to be 
grounded is plain and clear, it is not sim- 
plicity, but ignorance and carelessness that 
mislead people. The all-important figure 
in the ticket, though bearing some resem- 
blance to another, may yet be easily deter- 
mined by a careful examination. It would 
never occur to you, or to me, to read 
another figure instead of it, when we are 
possessed of the blessed consciousness that 
it conveys a title to a splendid fortune. 
The agent who inserted the figures may 
with justice require a careful examination 
on the part of those whom it concerns. If 
our companion had been possessed of proper 
anxiety about this matter, he would have 
distrusted his own ignorance ; but he had 
much too high an opinion of his own and 
his wife’s cleverness for that. My friend, 
if we mistake clearly written testimony, this 
does not prove that our eye is single^ but, on 
19 * 


222 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


the contrary, that we see double^ or, in other 
words, that we squint.'*^ 

There were other things that tended 
to confirm the man in his error. He stood 
with five against us two.’^ 

“ True ; and when a man has embraced 
error, there is nothing easier than to become 
confirmed in it; for that which we have 
preferred , we like to see favored by others ; 
and there are people enough to be found 
who will profess approval of anything, how- 
ever false, in order to ingratiate themselves. 
Then the appeal to the majority is always 
the resource of the weak. He who feels 
himself strong in truth wants no associates, 
as he certainly does not find many. And 
when he occasionally overtakes and joins 
himself to such, his appeal is to their char- 
acter, not to their numbers. Error, my 
friend, seeks to strengthen itself by num- 
bers. Truth would rather have the company 
of one lion than that of a thousand hares.’’ 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


223 


“ It seems as if the ticket-holder had felt 
the lion-strength of our truth,” replied I. 
“ He certainly lost the gayety with which 
he came singing into the Diligence ; and I 
still feel on my instep the effects of his ill- 
humor.” 

“ Don’t be surprised at that,” said Mr. 
Sybrand, smiling. “ Stubborn error is a 
dangerous beast to deal with ; for if you 
don’t flatter him, he ’ll trample you under 
foot. He will rail especially at your vir- 
tues ; he will call your care meanness, 
your exactness subtlety, your decision reck- 
lessness, and your earnestness unmeaning 
pretence.” 


224 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


Cljapt^er ^Yxxitnx, 


THROUGH FAITH IN THE FATHER’S WORD, WE ARE 
CAPABLE OF ENDURING THE HEAVIEST TRIALS ON 
ACCOUNT OF IT — WE RECEIVE FULL JOY AND HOPE 
AT OBTAINING THE INHERITANCE. 


While we were thus conversing together 
in the parlor of the Inn, some one touched 
me on the shoulder, and said, ‘‘ How came 
you here, David?’’ I turned, and saw an 
old school-fellow, now a lawyer at Gronin- 
gen, standing before me, wrapped' in his 
large cloak, from which the rain was fast 
dripping. 

Right glad to see you!” I exclaimed, 
“ but what brought you here ? You look 
as though you had dropped from the clouds. 
Have you been washed out of Groningen?” 

Not exactly washed away, though I 


TUE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


225 


could hardly find a better word to explain 
my exit from Grono’s fastness. But no 
more of that. I am on my way to Deven- 
ter.” 

‘‘ Ha ! indeed ! — then we can travel to- 
gether.” 

“ Provided you will take a place in the 
supplement with me.” 

“ Willingly, if my fellow-traveller, Mr. 
Sybrand, have no objection.” And so say- 
ing, I looked round for my friend, but he 
had left the room. He was standing outside 
the door, speaking to some one, although 
it was pitch-dark. “Are you there, Mr. 
Sybrand ? ” I called, “Yes,” was the reply. 
I told him my wish, and he complied with 
it at once, for the man to whom he was 
talking was also a supplement passenger. 
This was a person belonging to Deventer, 
and known to us both. I rejoiced in the 
change, if it were only to be free of the 
unpleasant companionship of the holder of 


226 THE INHERITANCE, AND 

the lottery-ticket. We accordingly set forth 
on our journey, and had the carriage to 
ourselves. My heart began to beat with 
joy at the thought of the trifling distance 
that now separated me from my future 
happiness. 

“ Is it long since you left Deventer ? ’’ 
said I to the gentleman with whom Mr. 
Sybrand had been conversing at the Inn 
door. 

‘‘I left it at twelve o’clock this morning,” 
was the answer. 

“ Ay, you Ve just made an excursion 
to Twello. Did you leave all well at De- 
venter ? ” 

“ All as usual; and the old pepper-box^ 
still standing in the old place. No news 
that I know of.” 

‘‘My father and mother are well?” I 
asked. 

“ I have not spoken to your father for the 


1 The church tower of Deventer is commonly so called. 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


227 


last fortnight ; but I happened to meet your 
aunt last night, and as she did not mention 
any illness in your house, I conclude all is 
well.” 

“ What I ” said I, “ my aunt ! what aunt ? 
I had one aunt at Deventer, and” — 

“ Your aunt in Pole Street, to be sure,” 
rejoined my townsman ; “ she who goes by 
the name of Aunt Griphard.” 

‘‘ That is impossible,” cried I, with min- 
gled surprise and dismay ; ‘‘ the dead nei- 
ther pay visits nor hold conversations.” 

“ Dead ! and who says that your aunt is 
dead?” 

“ Why, I received a letter yesterday even- 
ing from my father, inviting me to come 
to Deventer with all possible speed, in order 
to take possession of her property.” 

“Poor young man! who can have been 
playing off such a sorry trick upon you? 
Your aunt was alive and well in her parlor 
last evening.” 


228 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


“ Mr. Sybrand,’’ I exclaimed, “ do you 
hear this! and have you nothing to say 
about it ? 

‘‘ I am struck dumb,” he rejoined. This 
passes my comprehension, David. Is it 
possible that we can both have been duped 
in this way ? ” 

‘‘ Ah,” said I, “ if we had not thrown 
the letter in the fire this morning, I might 
have shown it to this gentleman ; still that 
would not help me much, for it is dark 
as night here in the carriage. ' I should 
otherwise have been able to convince you, 
sir, that my father himself wrote me the 
tidings.” 

“ It may be so,” he replied ; “ but I must 
believe my own eyes, with which I saw 
your aunt sitting in her chair alive and 
knitting.” 

“ Now, sir,” I exclaimed, “ if the one is 
possible, the other is impossible. Either my 
father is a liar, or you are one ! ” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


229 


“Does it not admit of an alternative, my 
dear friend? Is it not possible that you 
may have been imposed on ? Are you quite 
sure that the letter which you yesterday 
received was indeed a letter from your 
father ? ” 

“ Certain , I replied. “ It were too ridic- 
ulous to make that a matter of dispute. No 
one could imitate a father’s letter so clev- 
erly but that a son would discover the 
cheat. I know my father’s mind, and style, 
and hand-writing too well, to admit the 
possibility of doubt as to the genuineness 
and authenticity of the letter. Moreover, 
the parcel in which the letter was enclosed 
contained other things which would abund- 
antly suffice to prove that the whole was 
sent direct from my father’s house.” 

“It is very singular,” said the other, 
quite bewildered. “ There must be some 
mystery here. But,” said he, after a pause, 
“ we ai'e all friends here ; suffer me to put 
20 


230 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


a question to you. Are you and your father 
on perfectly good terms with each other ? 
Could your father, perhaps” — 

Stop, sir ! ” cried I, interrupting him ; 
‘‘ I am aware that the misunderstanding 
between my father and myself was perfectly 
well known in Deventer — thanks to the 
gossip of my departed aunt. But I also 
know that my father has buried the memory 
of the past in oblivion, — that no remem- 
brance of it ever rises in his breast, unless 
it be such as tends to enhance our present 
reciprocal affection. Believe me, I should 
not so eagerly long for the termination of 
my journey, if I were not assured that my 
father is waiting with still stronger yearn- 
ings for my desired arrival.” 

‘^Well,” rejoined the man of Deventer, 
“you must know all that better than I can ; 
but this at least I am sure of, that your 
aunt in Pole Street is still alive.” 

“It is impossible!” rejoined I; “but you 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


231 


are pleased to jest. We will say no more 
about it at present, for you will never con- 
vince me that my father is a liar.” 

With these words I threw myself back in 
my corner. Absurd as the whole thing 
appeared to me, it had yet left an uncom- 
fortable impression. It was not that it had 
brought the shadow of a doubt across my 
mind; and yet it had drawn as it were 
a veil between me and the fair prospect 
which had till then looked so bright in the 
distance. 

That my father should have deceived me, 
was too absurd an idea to be entertained 
for one moment ; and yet I could not, or 
rather I would not, regard my townsman as 
a barefaced and shameless liar. The mys- 
tery wearied me, and deprived me of all 
joy. But then I thought, “ What ! this 
gentleman must be a liar. Why torment 
myself? Why suffer myself to be deprived 
of my joy by such wretched delusions?^’ 


232 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


and at length I cried out, ‘‘ You have been 
telling me a lie, sir, — a shameless lie ! ” 

At this very moment the carriage stopped 
before a house by the wayside, and the 
conductor delivered a parcel to a maid- 
servant who came out with a lantern, and 
stood behind the coach. She waited for 
change. 

‘‘ My good woman,” I said, ‘‘ lend me 
your lantern for a minute.” She gave it 
into my hand ; I put it to his face, and 
repeated, Sir, I look you in the face, and 
tell you you are a shame — ” 

He burst into a fit of uncontrollable 
laughter. I was greatly surprised, and 
lowered the lantern. By this slight move- 
ment its rays fell upon the face of Mr. 
Syhrand, who, to my utter astonishment, 
began to laugh too. I felt my anger ris- 
ing. It was evident that they understood 
each other. I restrained myself, saying 
inwardly, “ It was but a sorry joke.” 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


233 


“ Aha ! ” said I, after I had returned the 
lantern to the woman ; “ I see you have 
been laying your heads together to play me 
a trick.” 

“ I wanted to see what amount of trial 
your belief in your father’s word was capa- 
ble of sustaining. I am satisfied. You 
have triumphed through faith.” 

“ You certainly did not make the trial 
too easy,” said I, “ for it is no light matter 
to reprove an eye-witness as a liar, and 
this entirely on the authority of a written 
word.” 

“ And yet, in every case, a full reliance on 
his father’s word may certainly be expected 
from a child. Even if one came from the 
father’s house, with any other message than 
that whicli is contained in the father’s own 
letter, the dutiful believing child would tell 
him to his face that he is a liar. If his 
faith be too weak for this, he is no true 
child, and his faith never was true faith ; 

20 * 


234 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


for a child cannot for an instant admit the 
possibility of deception on the part of his 
father.” 

“Yon are right,” I replied; “neither did 
such a thought once find entrance into my 
mind. I never for an instant doubted the 
fact of my aunt’s death ; yet a contradiction 
so unlooked for, and so boldly uttered, may 
cast down the soul for a season, so that we 
know not where we are.” 

“No wonder; a man is never prepared 
for these things, and at first we listen to 
the adversary under the mistaken appre- 
hension that he is a friend. It is quite 
natural that this confidence should cause 
him some slight perplexity, which will em- 
barrass him until he dismiss it, and — 
breaking through the illusion — discover 
that he has had to do with an enemy, who 
has hidden himself behind the mask of 
guileless uprightness and honesty. If the 
man have got so far, then he has recovered 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


235 


strength sufficient to repulse the liar, and 
his previous joy returns.” 

It seemed that the conductor had not 
been able to find change for the servant, 
for we were still waiting. “ Conductor,” 
said I, letting down the glass, “ are we not 
to get any further this evening ? Pray, let 
us set off again.” These words had the 
desired effect — at least we set forward in 
a few minutes. And now, as if to make up 
for lost time, the driver urged his horses to 
the utmost, and the carriage seemed almost 
to fly along the road : and yet it went too 
slowly for me. I put my head to the win- 
dow, and pressed my cheek against the 
glass, in order to rejoice in the distant 
lights. With child-like delight I saw them 
now dancing in the distance before me, 
now sinking and vanishing from my sight. 

These are the friendly lights of my 
home,” said I to myself ; ‘‘ yet a little while I 
shall be in my father’s house, — shall lie in 


23G 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


his bosom after so many sorrows, so many 
tears that I have caused him, and also 
AFTER SUCH A RECONCILIATION.” In imagi- 
nation I seemed to be already knocking at 
the door. I heard the cry, “ It is he ! — It 
IS HE ! ” My father himself opens the door, 
with the joyous words, “ Welcome^ ^<^ppy 
heir!^^ My mother is behind him. She 
falls upon my neck, and will not let me 
go till I have told her for the tenth time 
that I am sound and well. And then, — 
in the parlor a bright blazing fire, and my 
chair placed close to it, and the coffee ser- 
vice set ready for me on the table, under 
the lamp, — and then the questions and 
answers, — all expressions of the love and 
joy that filled our hearts to overflowing, — 
and, at last, the well-spread table, where 
nothing is wanting that can refresh me 
after my journey, and to which all my best 
friends are invited, while I, seated between 
my father and mother, feel in its full bles- 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


237 


sedness what it is to he at home. “Ah,” I 
said aloud, in my reverie, “ I shall soon be 
at home ! ” 

“ You seem to long for the end of your 
journey, indeed ! ” said friend Leonard of 
Groningen. 

I sprang forward, as one does in a dream. 

“ Long for it ! ” I exclaimed ; “ if I had 
wings I would fly thither. The nearer we 
come, the greater is my longing.” 

“ Are you tired of your journey, then ? ” 

“Not exactly tired of it, although I am 
somewhat weary,” I replied ; “ hut I could 
travel some hours longer with pleasure, for 
the inheritance is waiting me. Still, since 
we are so far on the road, I do earnestly 
desire to reach my father’s house.” 

“ I can’t say that I do,” said the lawyer. 
“ The horses might take us back to Apel- 
doorn, or to China, so far as I care.” 

“ And yet, you also have a father in De- 
venter,” cried I, in astonishment. 


238 


THE INHERITANCE, AND 


Certainly,” he rejoined ; “ and this is all 
the worse for me, for I expect anything but 
a full cup and a well-spread table.” 

How is that?’’ 

“ Between ourselves, then, David, you 
know me of old, and know that I had no 
fancy for working myself to death. In a 
word, my father has taken otfence at hav- 
ing, for the eighth time, to pay my college 
hills, and is persuaded that I shall make 
a better soldier than lawyer. I must go 
home to speak to him, but it can be no 
pleasant meeting ; and you can believe that 
the horses only carry me too fast.” 

“ Leonard,” said I, “ your case is truly 
a sad one ; but, forgive me the observation, 
it cannot be altogether unexpected.” 

“No,” said he, “I have long seen the 
storm brewing, — would that I had taken 
warning by my father’s letters! In each 
of them he offered his forgiveness, and 
promised that he would even forget the 


THE JOURNEY TO OBTAIN IT. 


239 


past, entreating me not to bring dishonor 
on his gray hairs. But I gave his words 
to the wind, and now it is too late. The 
further I get on the road, the more miser- 
able do I feel ; for I well know that my 
father, when he sits in judgment, admits 
of no appeal.” 

I knew from the tone of his voice that he 
was deeply moved, but I felt that his tears 
would not avail to wash out the accusing 
ciphers of his eight years’ bills. At twenty- 
five he was an old man. His youth had 
worn away in dissipation. 

We were now in Deventer ; and my friend 
Sybrand whispered to me, What a differ- 
ence, David, between travelling for an in- 
heritance, and for a sentence ! — travelling 
to meet a judge, and travelling to meet a 
father! The one involves pain at every 
step, the other is all hope and joy. The 
restless heart would fain delay the journey, 
and defer the arrival, which it contemplates 


240 


THE TNHERITANCE. 


with anxiety and terror, — the glad heir 
longs for the last mile. The one comes 
with faltering steps into the presence of 
his Judge, — the other falls rejoicing into 
the arms of his Father I ” 


THE SHIPWHECKEI) THAYELLER. 


21 


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THE 


SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

MT FRIEND JEROME. 

I ALWAYS look back with the greatest 
pleasure to the three months, during the 
summer vacation, which I spent with mj 
friend Jerome. 

My friend was minister in one of our 
seaport towns, where he lived apart from, 
and forgotten by the world, but not for- 
gotten by me, who had full many kind and 
faithful letters from him lying in my desk, 
which I frequently took in my hand and 
read over for the tenth or twentieth time. 


244 : THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

whenever I needed something to cheer and 
to console me. For, young though I was 
(I was studying Theology at Leyden), I 
had, nevertheless, in my way, need of con- 
solation and encouragement, quite as much 
as Job, when ‘‘he sat down among the 
ashes,” or as David, when “he clothed him- 
self in sackcloth.” My fellow-students often 
rallied me upon my gloominess; and, on 
reflection, I see that sometimes they had 
good reason, for I was frequently gloomy, 
because I wished to be so. Still, all my 
tears were not “as the early dew that 
passeth away.” Something lay upon my 
heart which weighed heavily on me, caus- 
ing at times more or less depression. I 
could not always give a reason for it, and 
consequently my lowness of spirits had fre- 
quently the appearance of ill-humor. But 
this much was plain to me, that solemn 
and all-important questions were involved 
in this spirit which continually arose in me, 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 245 


and for which I knew not how to account. 
I had lost a brother, whom I tenderly loved. 
I myself was of a delicate constitution, and 
disposed to the complaint which had carried 
off my brother. Death and sickness bring 
even young persons to inquire concerning 
the Spirit, which gives them no peace of 
mind until they get a decisive answer. So 
it was now with me ; in the light-hearted 
life of a student, my heart was often heavy : 
and in my quiet study, I frequently did not 
know peace. I was then in the way of 
opening my desk and taking out a letter 
from my friend Jerome ; for of all my 
friends there was not one who so well knew 
how to draw out my heart. 

“My dear Zacharias,” — so ran one of 
his letters, — “your epistles are at present 
as bleak as winter, — and you, too, a young 
man, who are just in the blooming spring 
of life ! I do believe that you are seeking 
the philosopher’s stone ; and I have no 
21 * 


246 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

objection, only, let me tell you, you shall 
seek long, if you will not believe, that the 
stone was at first rejected by the wise. I 
can see plainly, that in your view heaven 
is a far country. You stand as a ship- 
wrecked traveller on the barren strand, and 
throw a despairing glance over the deep, 
wide ocean, which separates you from the 
beloved shores. Eagles’ wings, with which 
you may fly over it, have long been of- 
fered you, but you will not avail yourself of 
them, for you would rather row than fly. 
Believe me, you may stand there sighing 
long enough, if you do not cease to be wise 
in your own eyes. Row over the ocean, 
my dear Zacharias ! that is no easy matter. 
This you feel yourself, and therefore it is 
that you are so sorrowful. As soon as you 
have put on the eagles’ pinions, you will 
find out what an almighty arm bears up 
and sustains you, and wafts you to the far 
country over the mighty deep. Ah ! my 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 247 


dear friend, this is the great mercy which 
God hath granted us, that we should come 
to Him through the strength of another, 
who is stronger tlian we. What tidings 
for a poor, weary, helpless castaway ! But 
there is also one thing which is necessary 
before all others, — and it is, that he should 
believe the tidings. For to him alone 
who believes them are ‘good tidings from 
a far country as cold water to a thirsty 
soul ! ’ ’’ 

So wrote my friend Jerome, and I felt 
it all the more, that he had hit the exact 
point. Nevertheless, I was unwilling to 
agree with him at once, and least of all in 
my own case ; for — to follow out the image 
which my friend had made use of — I was 
a good way advanced in the construction 
of the boat in which I hoped to cross the 
ocean, and if I should after all accept the 
eagles’ wings, this labor would be all for 
nought, and that went sore to my heart. 


248 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

To be brief, I always took the letters of my 
friend Jerome into my hand when I sought 
peace ; but so soon as I laid them down 
again, I was dissatisfied as ever, and most 
of all with him. 

But that is not to be wondered at ; there 
is no medicine that heals before it is taken. 

Meanwhile it was a very pleasant letter 
which the post brought to me, from Zeedorp 
(so I will call the place at which Jerome 
was stationed), just before the commence- 
ment of the vacation. My dear Zacha- 
rias,” he wrote, “where do you intend 
spending your three months ? Were your 
dear brother still alive, I would not put 
this question to you; but ho is already 
gone to the far country. Your sister, with 
her six children, has her house full, and 
I do not know if you should there so easily 
find the eagles’ wings. The cares of life 
are a dead weight, which men must by all 
me^ns avoid clogging themselves with, if 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 249 


they would learn to fly. Come to me ; you 
know, that in my house everything goes 
on as quietly as if it were a reading-room. 
My old Martha, good soul, will be delighted 
to have you as a visitor. Your little room, 
as you know, is just large enough to hold 
you and all your nick-nacks. Through the 
window you have a view of the broad 
ocean. You can thus every morning, when 
you wake, at once see a text stretched out 
before you in the great book of nature; 
for example, Jesm walked upon the sea; and 
you can then consider, whether it is not 
liigh time for you to descend from your 
miserable boat and to walk with Him. Or 
you might think over this text : ‘ There 
was no more sea ^ that is, for those who 
have flown with the eagles’ wings to the far 
country.” 

I need not tell my readers that this invi- 
tation was very acceptable. Scarcely was 


1 Rev. xxi. 1. 


250 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


the college session over, when I packed my 
half-dozen things into a trunk, and the next 
day I was sitting on the sea-shore with my 
friend Jerome. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


251 


®ixr0. 

HOW MY FRIEND JEROME SHOWED ME SOMEBODY WHO 
WAS SEEKING FOR A FAR COUNTRY. 

It was late in the evening when I landed 
at my friend’s house, in Zeedorp. Jerome 
shook me right heartily by the hand, and old 
Martha came hobbling out of the kitchen, 
exclaiming, “Well, now, here is Mr. Zacha- 
rias himself I ” She lighted us in, and car- 
ried my trunk into the house. I was soon 
seated in the cheerful parlor, where my 
host had made magnificent preparations to 
receive me. For it was a high day with 
him also, as he had very few visitors on his 
little Patmos, except the flies in summer, 
and in winter the poor fishers’ children. 

The following morning, at breakfast, we 


252 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

had knitted anew the ties of friendship, and 
had caught the tone in which we had been 
in the way of pouring out our hearts to 
one another, and my friend invited me to 
accompany him to the village, in which he 
had a pastoral visitation to make. Nothing 
was more to my mind, for my good Jerome 
had but few gifts in the pulpit, though all 
the more out of it ; a reason why he had 
never been called to another charge ; for 
thus it always is in the world — what is not 
exhibited in the window will not find pur- 
chasers. The Zeedorpers, however, were 
perfectly satisfied, for their minister was 
talented enough for them even in the pulpit, 
and succeeded in driving sleep from their 
eyes, and, what was still better, from their 
souls. In visitation he was indeed a master, 
though he himself complained that he had 
here the greatest difficulties to contend 
with, and often experienced the deepest 
humiliation. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


253 


“ Some time ago,’’ said he, while we 
were on the road, ‘‘not far from our vil- 
lage, there was a ship lost on her way 
from Stettin to Bordeaux. The crew saved 
themselves in the boat, only a young man 
who lay sick in the cabin was left behind. 
He must assuredly have become the prey 
of the waves, had not the young men of the 
village ventured out to the wreck. They 
were in time to save him, with some of his 
property, from the ship, and to land them 
safely. He is a German, from a little town 
beyond Berlin, and not altogether destitute 
of means ; but these are not so great as to 
provide him with an independent liveli- 
hood. It is not uninteresting to talk with 
this young man, and I believe that you will 
have great pleasure in accompanying me 
on my visit.” 

We soon reached the dwelling of the 
stranger, who received us in a very friendly 
manner. He spoke Dutch, with a German 


22 


254 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

accent, it is true, but yet so perfect that 
we could without difficulty hold a continu- 
ous conversation with him. 

“No news yet from Berlin, Mr. Irrling?” 
asked my friend Jerome. 

“ Ah, no, — not yet,” he answered with a 
sigh ; “I fear that my letter has not ar- 
rived.” 

“You expect a letter too soon ; you know 
Berlin is not just at the door.” 

“No, no ! there you are quite right ; it 
is a far country, — we were more than six 
weeks at sea before we reached this coast. 
But I should think that a letter which I 
wrote three months ago, might very well 
have been answered by this time.” 

“Yes, so I should think,” replied my 
friend Jerome, with a smile ; “ but when 
our intercourse is with a far country, it is 
subject to many uncertainties and difficul- 
ties. I cannot understand, however, why 
you did not at once set out on the journey. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 255 


for then you would have reached your father 
long ago.’’ 

“ Yes, yes ! but that is not so easy,” re- 
plied Irrling ; “ the way is long, and I do 
not know if my means are sufficient to 
defray the expenses of the journey. I 
brought a considerable sum of money from 
home with me, but the sea has swallowed 
the greater part of it. On the other hand, 
it is certain that I cannot remain, for the 
means which I still possess will ere long 
be exhausted, and I am here in a strange 
land, where I have no friends nor acquaint- 
ances who will care for me.” 

While Irrling was speaking, his landlord, 
Michael Bliiefinger, came in, and seated 
himself beside us. 

“The minister,” said Irrling, “ advises me 
to set out.” 

“ Oho!” answered the Innkeeper, “ that I 
should never do all the days of my life 1 
To Berlin ! that ’s no small thing ! You ’ll 


256 THE shipwrecked traveller. 

never get there alive ! You ’ll die on the 
way ! If there were a ship here, then it 
would be quite another thing; but you 
always say yourself that you haven’t enough 
money to pay your fare by the ‘ Diligence.’ 
We once calculated it. It would be at least 
more than a hundred guilders, besides your 
living by the way ! No ; drive that out of 
your head ! If they do not send you money, 
I advise you to stay quietly here. You can 
then see whether you can get work, and, at 
any rate, you’ll easily have as much as will 
keep your mouth full.” 

These words, spoken by the Innkeeper in 
a harsh manner, evidently made a melan- 
choly impression on the poor* young man. 
He hung down his head, and, with a sigh, 
muttered in a half audible voice, “ No, I 
believe it ; I shall never get back again.” 

I felt great sympathy with him, and tried 
to offer him some consolation. 

But,” said I, “is your friend here well 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


257 


enough acquainted with all the facilities for 
travelling which now exist ? You speak of 
the ‘ Diligence.’ But do you know, that a 
railway is now in course of construction to 
Berlin ? I have heard, that it is already 
completed from Hanover, so that you have 
only to travel from here to Hanover by 
‘Diligence.’ 

“ Of all that I know nothing,” answered 
the young man, turning to his host with an 
inquiring look. 

“ But,” he continued, in a despondent 
tone, “ I have never seen a railway, and 
thus cannot judge. Ah ! it is indeed griev- 
ous to be so far away from one’s own 
country ! ” 

“Yes,” said Michael Bluefinger, “you 
say very true ; and it is worst of all, when 
there is so little likelihood of ever returning 
to it. And there is little chance of that 
with you, Mr. Irrling, unless they send you 
from thence a bag of rix dollars, and of that 
22 * 


258 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

there is small appearance. And to begin 
the journey without them, my dear sir, 
would be the greatest folly in the world. 
No, no ; stay here : you ’re always well with 
me, are n’t you, now ? Ay, ay ! with Blue- 
finger in The Crolden Fishnet it ’s always well 
to be, — eh ?” 

Whilst the Innkeeper, with evident satis- 
faction, rubbed his hands and looked at us 
with a chuckle of self-complacency, our poor 
German sat dejected, and spoke not a word. 
My friend Jerome tried to inspire him with 
courage, by reminding him of the fatherly 
faithfulness and almighty care of Provi- 
dence, but the words fell upon the discon- 
solate stranger like rain-drops on a slated 
roof. As for me, I had lost all heart to say 
a word, and after we had taken leave of the 
poor wanderer, we wended our way back to 
the parsonage. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


259 


HEAVEN IS A PAR COUNTRY TO MANY TRAVELLERS — 
THE CAUSE UNFOLDED. 

“Zacharias/’ said my friend Jerome, 
‘‘ this poor young man shows us once for 
all clearly what a sad thing it is for a man 
when his fatherland is as a far country to 
him.’^ 

“ Yes,” I answered, at least when he can 
have no tidings from it.” 

‘‘Assuredly; and such a far country is 
their heavenly fatherland to the majority 
of mankind. We live far, far from Para- 
dise, Zacharias ! In the foolishness of our 
hearts we are reckless enough to leave our 
father’s house, and to embark upon the 
boisterous ocean, and to navigate with our 


260 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


own sails and oars. So we liave suifered 
shipwreck, and now we lie in a strange land, 
far from our God and his paradise. That 
is the cause of all our misery, Zacharias, 
and thence come all the tears, pains, sick- 
ness, and death, which embitter the lives 
of our unhappy race.’’ 

“You place the matter in a somewhat 
gloomy light,” said I : “I have often heard 
our life here below likened to a school^ in 
which our Heavenly Father trains us for 
the communion above. That image strikes 
me as more happy than that of a ship- 
wreck.” 

“Well, I have no objections to it,” replied 
my friend Jerome ; “for why should not the 
shipwrecked also go to school ? Great is the 
grace of God, in that he hath been pleased 
to provide for us, in this land of sorrow and 
death, a school, where tlie chart of our 
heavenly country is spread out, and the 
road thither indicated. By the school, I 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 261 


mean the Church of the Lord, the Father’s 
house in the desert, where you may find 
instructions to teach you how you may soar 
on eagles’ wings back to that fatherland, 
which in vain you may attempt to reach 
with your own sails and oars. To the chil- 
dren who attend this school, the fatherland 
is no far country; it is to them a neigh- 
boring land, whose bread they already eat, 
with whose inhabitants they already have 
sweet intercourse, and whose blessed songs 
already echo in their hearts. But, my dear 
Zacfiarias, how few among the shipwrecked 
are there, who are willing to betake them- 
selves to this school, and to choose a secure 
place in it ! By far the greater number 
are content to wander outside all their 
lives, even as those in the time of Noah 
outside the ark. They did eat, they drank, 
and were merry, and — they all utterly 
perished. So it is also in our days ; and 
many, many there are, who think that they 


262 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

have a secure place in the school, while 
they have not yet once put their foot over 
the threshold.” 

On these last words of my friend Jerome 
I pondered a while. Whether it was be- 
cause I was inclined to be suspicious, I 
know not; but it struck me that in them 
he had his eye particularly on my case. 
Therefore, I will not deny it, I took it a little 
amiss, and said, in a somewhat sharp tone : 

Think! ay, but we have nothing with- 
out thinking that we have it, and how shall 
we know whether our idea be true or ho ? ” 

“ There are marks, my friend, by which 
we can discover whether what we have is 
the reality or merely the appearance. Who- 
ever really sees, walks in the light ; whoever 
only ajypears to see, walks in uncertainty, 
and stumbles over every stone. Hereby we 
know that we have entered the school, and 
have seated ourselves with Mary at the 
feet of the Master, namely, if heaven is no 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 263 


longer a far country to us. As long as the 
yawning gulf and wide chasm interpose 
between the soul of man and the heav- 
enly city, he has not yet really entered the 
school.’’ 

I was silent at these words, for I felt that 
he spoke the truth. At last I said : 

“ But, indeed, it is not to be wondered 
at that heaven is to us a far country. We 
are upon the earth, and if we lift up our 
eyes, we see above us an immeasurable 
expanse. No one can deny that that is a 
far country which nobody has as yet been 
able to reach.” 

That is true,” answered my friend Je- 
rome. ‘‘‘The heaven, even the heavens, 
are the Lord’s : but the earth hath he 
given to the children of men.’ Neverthe- 
less, when Jacob, at Bethel, lay down to 
sleep upon his stone pillow, and saw the 
ladder by which the angels of God de- 
scended and ascended, then he had heaven 


264 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

upon earth. It is an important matter, in 
going great distances, to take care what road 
we travel. Our friend the German would 
return by Stettin to Berlin. That is a very 
roundabout way. You told him of a shorter 
road, by which he could reach the same 
Berlin several days’ journey sooner. When 
one has, like Jacob, a ladder built by God, 
Zacharias ! then he has heaven in his house, 
and climbs up and down at his pleasure, 
sometimes ten or twenty times in a day, 
although a cannon ball requires five and 
twenty years to reach the sun, — at least 
so astronomers assure us. And the ladder 
of Jacob, though seen in a dream, was a 
reality as well as a dream, for we have seen 
with our eyes, and our hands have handled 
Him on whom the angels of God ascended 
and descended.! He is the way to our 
fatherland, and to him who is at school 
with Him, that fatherland is no longer a 


1 John i. 61. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 265 


far country. For in like manner when He 
stood with his feet upon the earth, He was^ 
nevertlieless, in heaven. Therefore He 
called Himself the Son of Man, which is 
in heaven.^ But without^ or outside Him 
— ah, yes ! then heaven is indeed a far, 
very far country, much further than Berlin 
to our poor German, even if he went round 
by Otaheite or Spitzbergen.” 

“ You are right,’’ I said ; “ the road makes 
the distance longer or shorter. Those who 
know the road can be there in one moment, 
while others take days to go the same jour- 
ney. But should you then say that the 
majority of men are off the road to the 
heavenly city ? ” 

“ Zacharias,” replied my friend Jerome, 
“ art thou a theologian, and knowest not 
these things? Or have you never sat among 
the multitudes at the foot of the mount on 
which Jesus preached his sermon? The 


1 John iii. 13. 
23 


266 THE SHirWRECKED TRAVELLER, 


road which the great majority of travellers 
have chosen has invariably been the broad 
way that leadeth to destruction.^ And how 
can it be otherwise? for every one will 
always sail in his own ship, with his own 
sails and oars, and to be able to do that, 
one must have broad seaway.” 

“ But is it not strange and melancholy, 
then,” said I, “ that so many diverge from 
the road ? ” 

“ Indeed it is, but the root of error lies 
in our nature ; that you saw in our poor 
German. He prefers the way on which he 
suffered shipwreck, to the better road which 
has been pointed out to him; and, although 
he has neither ship nor boat, neverthe- 
less he chooses it, because it is his w'ay. 
Nobody chooses that of another, so long 
as he does not despair of his own ; and 
the way which is indicated to us, ship- 
wrecked as we are, is not ours, but that 
of another.” 

1 Matt. vii. 13. 


TUE SHIPAVRECKED TRAVELLER. 267 


‘‘ But,” I interposed, necessity will drive 
the shipwrecked to take the other road.” 

“Just so; but man feels no real neces- 
sity, so long as he has anything left in 
the strange land. This, also, the German 
taught you to-day. He has still some prop- 
erty remaining, on which to subsist for a 
while. Desponding he is, but necessity 
does not yet impel him. A man may be 
oppressed with sorrow on account of his 
separation from his father’s house, and yet 
remain quietly sitting in the place where 
he is. Then, and not till then, does he rise 
up and go to his father, when the choice is 
left him either to die or fly, — when he sees 
that all here is hopeless, yonder the only 
way of escape.” 

I was silent for a while at these words, 
for I felt that he again spoke the truth, and 
I thought it best to reflect a moment. 

“ Yes,” I cried at last, “ that is it ! This 
must be held up clearly to the poor ship- 


268 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

wrecked mariner, that yonder is the way 
of escape ; then he will betake himself 
to it ! ” 

Zacharias,” answered my friend Jerome, 
there are two forces needful to keep a 
runner in the race in a steadfast course, — 
the one the attractive force of hope, the 
other the impulsive force of fear. 

“ He gives a poor man much who gives 
him hope. Thus it was cruel in our Inn- 
keeper to deprive this stranger of all the 
courage necessary for his journey, without 
showing him, as you did, a better way. 
But I know Michael Bluefinger of old ; he 
does not wish the stranger to leave until 
he has first parted with all his property 
to him. And when the unhappy man is 
destitute, he will be sure to keep him in 
his service for a dog’s wages. Such advis- 
ers turn the shipwrecked off the road to 
the heavenly country, and among them 
there is one above all, who was a murderer 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 2G9 


in the beginning, and who would like to 
keep all in his service. He takes from 
them all hope and courage, so that to drown 
care, they drink themselves drunk in the 
cup of trembling, which he offers them. 
The Spirit, which is above, does otherwise. 
He opens to them at once abundant hopes ; 
He invites. He entreats. He draws them. 
But, Zacharias, if the runner in the race 
has only to hope, and has nothing to fear, 
he halts of his own accord in his course ; 
‘ for,’ says he, ‘ why should I haste ? I have 
nothing to fear ! ’ Thus fear is often neces- 
sary to drive the runner, when hope draws 
him along too slowly. That is what is 
wanted, and so long as the shipwrecked do 
not know, or will not acknowledge this, 
they remain in the strange land, wasting 
all their substance.” 

So spoke my friend Jerome, as we ap- 
proached the steps of the parsonage. Old 
Martha, who saw us coming, met us in the 

23 * 


270 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

corridor with the coffee-tray, and, laying 
hat and stick aside, we threw ourselves 
into our arm-chairs, and refreshed ourselves 
with the flavored beverage. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 271 


Jfotir. 

ONE BIAT TAKE A LONG AND EXPENSIVE JOURNEY 

TOWARDS A EAR COUNTRY, WITHOUT GETTING ANY 

NEARER TO IT. 

Some time after our visit to the German, 
I was sitting with my friend Jerome on a 
seat in his summer-house, in confidential 
conversation with him, when old Martha 
came to tell us that there was a person 
at the door who wished to speak with the 
minister. 

“ Oh, it is only our Prussian,’’ said my 
friend ; show him in here, Martha ! ” and 
added, looking to me, ‘^he can have no 
secrets which you may not share with me.” 

A moment afterwards Mr. Irrling was 
sitting beside us on the bench. He had 
a pensive countenance, and his face wore 


272 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

the haggard look of one who had not slept 
all night. 

“ Well,’^ said my friend Jerome, ‘‘no 
news yet?” 

“ Ah, no ! believe me, sir, if I had, you 
would see me here in a very different 
humor. On the contrary, I come to ask 
your advice, for this continued silence is 
unbearable. A thought has just come 
across me which gives me a slender ray 
of hope. In Amsterdam lives a distant 
relative of my father. For years we have 
heard nothing of him, nor has any corre- 
spondence passed between us. Neverthe- 
less, I think that possibly my father may 
have directed his letter to this relative ; 
for, to tell you the truth, my father goes 
somewhat cautiously to work.” 

“ But why should it be more sure than 
if he wrote to yourself ? ” asked my friend 
Jerome. 

“Well, — I don’t know,” replied Irrling, 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 273 


rather taken aback ; my father is some- 
times so peculiar ; but, to come to the point 
at once, what do you think, sir, of my going 
to Amsterdam, to see if my cousin can give 
me any information?’^ 

“ Certainly, you might try it ; but you 
know you cannot get to Amsterdam in a 
single day. Should you not rather write 
to your cousin?” 

‘‘ So I would, if only I knew his address. 
I suppose, however, that I shall be able to 
obtain that from the Postmaster, or the 
Prussian Consul. And also, to tell you 
the truth, I would like to have a talk with 
my cousin. I have often heard my father 
say that he has his nest well feathered. 
Perhaps he may aid me with his purse, as 
well as with his counsel.” 

“ Ah ! that is quite another matter, of 
which, of course, I cannot judge. But I 
can tell you, my friend, that this journey 
will cost you at least twenty guilders, and 


274 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

you must judge for yourself whether your 
purse can stand that.’’ 

It is all right as far as that goes, but 
my effects I cannot take with me. I hare 
still a hale of goods, saved from the ship, 
besides other articles, which I liope some 
day or other to realize in money. I shall 
leave them in the meantime with my land- 
lord, Bluefinger; and may I beg of you, 
sir, to be so good as to take charge of the 
key of my chest ? I have also another 
request to make. Can you direct me to 
a good and cheap hotel in Amsterdam ? 
for I am utterly unacquainted with the 
town.” 

At these words my friend Jerome was 
silent for a while. 

“ Mr. Irrling,” he said at last, “ I must 
dissuade you from undertaking this journey. 
You will expend much labor and money, 
without, as I fear, any advantage. I beg 
you to consider that your way and fate 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


275 


are in the hands of the Lord. You are 
impatient and hasty. They, on the con- 
trary, who trust in the Lord, never need 
to make haste. It is true that an answer 
to your letter miglit have arrived by this 
time ; but you must also consider, that, in 
so great a distance, difficulties might easily 
come in the way of the dispatch of a letter, 
all the more that your father does not live 
in Berlin, but full thirty miles out of it. 
In your case, I should rather write him a 
second letter, and remain here long enough 
to be sure whether I should receive- a reply 
or no.’’ 

So spoke my friend Jerome, and I also 
expressed my concurrence in his advice. 
But, say what we would, our German was 
not to be moved. He handed over to us 
the key of his sea-chest, took down the 
address of the Amsterdam hotel, and has- 
tened to his dwelling to make ready for 
the journey. Shaking his head, my friend 


276 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

Jerome saw him depart, and, when he was 
out of sight, we resumed our conversation. 

“ I am rather afraid that the history of 
this young man is not a very happy one,” 
said my friend Jerome ; “ did you see 
how confused he was when we spoke of his 
father ? ” 

‘‘ It appears to me,” I said, that some 
secret disquietude disturbs his soul.” 

That I think is unquestionable. Hence 
arises his haste. He evidently has had no 
peace here for some time, and that is always 
a mark of a troubled conscience. Peace 
gives a calm exterior. True peace rests 
in God, and waits on Him, to see how He 
will work. A disturbed conscience, on the 
other hand, dare not and cannot rest in 
God, for it tries to hide itself from Him. 
So it walks after its own way, and this 
appears always in its restlessness ; for, 
whether it will or no, the soul soon per- 
ceives that it is too weak to drag itself 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 277 


along without assistance. We are not inde- 
pendent elements in creation. We always 
need some foundation on which to lean for 
support ; and the only true foundation is 
God, who draweth all things to Him. If 
we have not this, then we seek support 
from some other quarter, and we stumble 
on from one to the other ; for out of God 
every stay disappoints, and necessitates the 
seeking of some other support. Those who 
stand out of God see their life every mo- 
ment hanging by a hair. Those, on the 
contrary, who rest in Him, know that the 
very hairs of their head are numbered.” 

These words also of my friend Jerome I 
laid to heart ; for it appeared to me that 
he had thereby brought out an important 
feature in my own case. I was still in 
darkness, as to why — notwithstanding so 
much fancied devotion — I should all the 
time be inwardly so troubled. But now 
it became quite clear to me, that it is one 

24 


278 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

thing to admire God, and another to re8t 
in God. 

Fully three weeks had elapsed since this 
conversation, when one day our friend again 
stood before us. He was more dejected 
than ever, and extreme fatigue was visible 
in his countenance. In a word, he looked 
like one who had just risen from a bed of 
sickness. 

‘‘ Well, friend Irrling,” said Jerome, “ so 
you are among us again ! Have you any 
good news ?” 

“ Ah ! would to God 1 had, sir ; but the 
contrary is the truth. My journey has been 
the most unfortunate ever undertaken by a 
man on earth.’’ 

“ Indeed, I am sorry to hear you say so.” 

“Yes! only think, sir; when I got to 
Amsterdam, I had to hunt three entire days 
before I could get the slightest trace of my 
cousin. His name is Johann Muller, and 
Heaven only knows how many men of that 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 279 


name live in Amsterdam ! I believe I was 
in twenty houses, all occupied by Johann 
Miiller. At last, however, I got the desired 
address, and, full of expectation, I hastened 
to the spot. But imagine my disappointment 
when I was told that it was now two years 
since my cousin had left it, and taken up 
his residence at Brussels. I was struck 
dumb, and knew not what to do. In my 
hotel I came in contact with a skipper, who 
traded between Amsterdam and Brussels. 
He olfered to take me there along with him 
for a trifle. I well knew that with him I 
should be longer on the way than by the 
diligence or steamboat, but the cheapness 
of the fare induced me to accept his offer. 
Well, we started three days later ; but ah, 
sirs ! what had I done ! The man had 
told niQ that we should be at Brussels 
within five days ; and when we were only 
tlie length of Dordrecht, we had already 
been seven days creeping on between tliQ 


280 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

green banks! At every town, at almost 
every little village, we lay to ; if it was 
not to discharge, then it was to take in 
cargo. The delays were endless. He at 
last informed me that he had an important 
freight to ship at Breda, where we stionld 
have to remain a few days. Here I waited 
three days longer, when my patience was 
exhausted. In the name of peace, I paid 
him the fare, and started by the Diligence 
for Brussels. But there the worst of all 
my troubles was to come. I had no pass- 
port for Belgium, and in consequence was 
stopped at the ‘Bureau de Police.’ I told 
them I was a Prussian, and unreservedly 
narrated my misfortunes and the object 
of my visit. They did not believe me, 
however, and I heard the officials deliber- 
ating whether they should transport me 
beyond the borders, or keep me in ‘ durance 
vile ’ until they found out the name of my 
birthplace. At last, after some conversa- 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


281 


tion, they determined on the former course. 
Meanwhile, to test my words, they had sent 
to my cousin, whose address I had given. 
The police-officer brought back intelligence 
that my cousin was out of town, and would 
not return until the following day. 

“In the meantime evening fell, and I 
had to spend the night in the watch-house, 
upon a wooden bench. The following 
morning I was conducted to the station 
on the line to Aix-la-Chapelle, where, under 
the surveillance of a police-officer, but at 
my own charge, I had to take out a ticket 
for Aix. The policeman saw me to the 
railway carriage, and kept his eye on me 
until the train had started. There I was, 
sirs, steaming away to Aix ! a town where I 
had absolutely nothing to do, and in which 
I knew not a single individual. Fancy my 
misery ! I could have torn my hair, but 
what did it avail me ? I could not leap 
out of the window, for I was not yet so 

24 * 


282 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


tired of life. At Aix I was compelled to 
pass a night, which of course cost me some- 
thing. I wrote a letter to my cousin in 
Brussels, in which I acquainted him with 
my circumstances, adding a humble request 
for advice and help. I wrote him that I 
should think myself unspeakably fortunate 
should he only obtain a- situation for me, 
even were the remuneration no more than 
three guilders a week ; and I asked him 
to send me an answer po8te restante to 
Cologne. 

Again I took out a ticket by the train, 
and the following morning went to Cologne, 
wlience I thought of taking the steamboat 
back to Holland. Here again I had to 
spend a night in a lodging. The following 
day I went to the post-office, but there was 
no letter for me. I waited another day, 
but in vain. At last, on the third day, I 
was so fortunate as to find a letter ad- 
dressed to me. My cousin wrote me a 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 283 


mere line, to say, that he was very sorry 
for my misfortunes, and was happy to offer 
me a situation at ten francs per week ; that 
there was just such a place vacant, which 
was in his gift, but that I must be on the 
spot immediately ; that he would meet me 
at the station, and would take care that I 
should have no more trouble with the 
police. Intoxicated with joy, I set off 
immediately, and took my seat in the train 
for Brussels. Happily I found my cousin 
in the bustling crowds, for he called out 
my name in a loud voice. But when I saw 
him, sirs, I was startled at his appearance. 
I think Judas Iscariot must have looked 
much like him. Indeed, a more repulsive 
subject — I am sorry I must say it of my 
blood-relation — I have never in all my 
life looked upon. He took me away with 
him to his house, where I was introduced 
to his wife and two daughters. When I was 
no farther than the door of his dwelling. 


284 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


an awful noise met my ear. Mother and 
daughters had quarrelled, and were light- 
ing. When we entered, and my cousin 
had thrown in a few curses, they became 
somewhat more quiet. This did not, how- 
ever, last long ; for before the blessed twi- 
light fell, these amazons had in my presence 
already had three stand-up fights. ‘ Good 
heavens ! ’ thought I, ‘ must I spend my life 
here in this hell ? ’ But the worst was yet 
to come. My cousin informed me that he 
had a share in a stone quarry, thirty miles 
distant from Brussels, in which he should 
offer me a place as a workman. Workman 
in a stone quarry ! I sighed, but said noth- 
ing. The following day, after I had been 
awakened by a terrible row among the 
females in the house, and the overbearing 
tones of my cousin’s thundering bass, we 
drove to the stone quarry. There I was 
immediately placed on the list of workmen, 
and presently got a barrow to wheel. I 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 285 


was quite cast down, but threw the straps 
mechanically over my shoulders. When I 
had been an hour at work, I felt exactly 
as if I had been attacked by St. Yitus’s 
dance. The unusual strain made all my 
sinews vibrate. I applied to my cousin, 
but he growled out, that if his work did 
not suit me, I might be off ; that he had 
not invited me to a tea-drinking ; that for 
the same money he could get ten fellows 
for every finger, who were more men than 
I, etc. Boiling with rage, I threw the 
straps on the ground, and told him to 
take me back to Brussels, for I begged 
to decline the situation. He laughed in 
my face, and told me if I wished to get 
to Brussels, I could go on my own legs. 
With these words he turned his back, and 
left me standing in despair. There was 
nothing for it, however, but to trudge back 
to Brussels. Fortunately a wagon overtook 
me which was returning empty to the town. 


286 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

and for a trifle the wagoner gave me a seat 
with him. The following morning I left 
Brussels by the earliest train, for I was in 
terror of the police. I returned to Cologne, 
and thence took the road back to Holland. 
So now, sirs, you have the melancholy his- 
tory of my disastrous journey ; and what is 
worst of all, I have spent every guilder I 
possessed, and am a penniless man.” 

At these words the narrator burst into 
tears. We both felt deep sympathy with 
him, and there was a pause before any one 
broke silence. 

“ My friend,” said I, at last, “ I pity you 
from my heart ; but your ill fortune does 
not at all astonish me ; you refused to give 
any heed to our advice.” 

‘‘ Ah, that is too true, sir ; that I see 
myself, when I look back.” 

“ Now, then,” said my friend Jerome, 
listen to the good advice which we wil- 
lingly offer you to-day. You have still a 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 287 


bale of manufactured goods lying at your 
lodging: realize it in money as fast as you 
can, and be off immediately to your own 
country. If I can serve you in any way 
in the disposal of your goods, I shall be 
most happy to do so. To remain here will 
not be of the slightest use to you, and the 
sooner you start homeward the better for 
you.'’ 

“ Ah, sir,” answered Irrling, “ you are 
very good, and I have not deserved such 
kindness at your hand. But there are 
urgent reasons which hinder me from fol- 
lowing your well-meant advice. First of 
all, I am still in debt to Michael Bluefinger, 
and it is doubtful whether he will allow me 
to sell my goods before he has been paid. 
I should not be surprised were he to keep 
the whole bale as security. And besides” — 

Here the narrator stopped short, cast 
down his eyes, and was silent. 


288 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


C^^aptfr jFtfat. 

CONFESSION WITHOUT PENITENCE, IS NOT SINCERE, 
AND LEADS TO NO GOOD RESULT. 

“ Perhaps you would like to speak to 
me alone,” interposed my friend Jerome, 
in a sympathizing tone. 

“ Oh, no, sir ! ” replied Irrling ; ‘‘ why 
should I not speak out the truth, much 
though it tell to my shame, to you, who 
have both taken so much interest in my 
circumstances ? Allow me to acquaint you 
with the original cause of my departure 
from my native town. My father is a 
burgher, well-to-do in the town of my birth. 
I am his only son, and I was from infancy 
the delight of his eyes. Scarcely, however, 
had I left the apron-strings, when I fell 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 28^^ 


into company which was not for my good. 
I entered into partnership with a young 
man of loose principles, in a drapery estab- 
lishment. Contrary to the advice of my 
good father, I embarked in a dangerous 
speculation. We were on the point of 
becoming bankrupt, when my father came 
to our aid, and placed more than half of 
his property at our disposal, to make up the 
deficit. 

‘‘ In place of becoming wise by this expe- 
rience, we entered again on the old specu- 
lation. Being very fond of going about, I 
left the whole management of my business 
in the hands of my unscrupulous partner. 
It did not last long, for we got into diffi- 
culties a second time, and again my father 
opened his purse, into which he had now, 
however, to dip so deeply as scarcely to 
leave himself sufficient for his own mainte- 
nance. Rescued a second time, we once 
more took courage, and at first went on 


25 


290 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

with greater prudence. The sun of pros- 
perity rose upon us ; we drove a good 
business, and our credit was soon entirely 
established. But our legs had not yet 
become strong enough to support success. 
Incited by a desire of larger profits, we 
again ventured upon a hazardous specula- 
tion. It miscarried, and we were now 
again in difficulty, and much greater than 
before. In desperation I sought my father, 
and entreated his help, as I had to do with 
a creditor who had sworn to put me in jail 
if I did not pay him to the last farthing. 
He was a rich, but hard-handed man, and I 
knew that he had both the will and the 
power to execute his threat. My father 
was very angry, and informed me that he 
was as little inclined as he was able, to 
make good the damage which the reckless- 
ness of my partner had occasioned. I knew, 
however, that he still possessed a locket set 
with brilliants, which had belonged to my 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 291 


sainted mother, and which contained her 
portrait : and I knew that its value would 
more than cover my debts. I told him to 
sell this trinket, for which a jeweller had 
alread}^ offered a considerable sum ; but 
the old man would do nothing of the kind, 
and all my prayers and entreaties were 
ineffectual in moving his determined reso- 
lution. In a rage I betook myself to my 
dwelling, took all the hard cash I still 
possessed, and as much of the shop goods 
as I could conveniently stow away, and fled 
to Stettin. There I took my passage in 
the first best ship which was ready to 
sail, and soon the waves of the Baltic car- 
ried me beyond the reach of my pursuers. 
The rest is known to both of you. Judge, 
now, whether I can return to my native 
town, so long as I have no tidings from 
thence telling me I have nothing further 
to fear.’’ 

“You have done well in having com- 


292 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

municated to us, without reserve, all your 
circumstances. Without that, of course we 
could not give you good advice. But, even 
now, to furnish you with such is indeed a 
matter of no small difficulty. The first thing 
which I can offer you — which I do from my 
heart — is the sincere prayer, that from your 
painful experience you may learn a lesson 
of wisdom which for the rest of your life 
may be 'useful to you. You see that all 
your misery has arisen from this — that 
you have not kept the fear of God before 
your eyes. From all which I have just 
now heard from you, it appears to me that 
hitherto you have troubled yourself very 
little with the eternal interests of your 
soul. To live a gay life in this world, and 
to get wealth, and continue that gay life to 
the end, such has been the sole aim of your 
struggles. You have merely asked how 
you could live after the lust of your heart 
in this world, without caring how it will 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 293 


fare with you in the next. Your heart 
has always been wandering far from God, 
who created you, and with whom you shall 
have to do in eternity. You have never 
bestowed a thought on your dangerous 
position ; but God, who desires not your 
destruction, has taken it to heart with 
earnest care for you. Therefore He has 
made your plans miscarry, and has taught 
you this lesson, that the world with all its 
riches is more vain than vanity itself. He 
has brought you to poverty, that you may 
seek riches in Him ; and now it is my 
heartfelt prayer, that you may learn from 
your present circumstances to find these 
riches in God.’’ 

While my friend Jerome was thus speak- 
ing, Irrling hung down his head, abashed ; 
and when my friend had finished, he still 
maintained unbroken silence. I was not 
pleased with this, and even had he refused 
to humble himself, I would have rather seen 

25 * 


294 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

him attempt some defence ; for argument, 
thought I, at least proves this, that one 
has some pleasure in the battle for truth ; 
but silence indicates indifference, wliich 
is, ill fact, the most deadly form of opposi- 
tion. It appeared to me that my friend 
Jerome was of the same opinion, when 
he gave the stranger to understand that 
he had no time at present to prolong the 
interview, and asked him to come at a 
more convenient time, that he might talk 
more particularly over his affairs. 

“ You are, I suppose, of opinion,” said I 
to my friend, when Irrling was gone, “ that 
there is not much to be made of this man. 
His silence, after your well-meant remark, 
was not a good sign.” 

‘‘Let us not judge hastily,” answered 
my friend ; “ we read also of Aaron, when 
the Lord reproved him, that he kept silence, 
and that silence was just a proof that he 
was before God as a weaned child before 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 295 


his mother. Meanwhile, I concur with 
you in the belief, that the heart of this 
young man is not yet broken, otherwise 
he would have made it to appear in his 
narrative, that he had acknowledged debts 
lying against him, not only in favor of his 
earthly, but also of his heavenly Creditor. 
Wherefore I think it not improbable that 
God may let him walk in a still more 
difficult path, and it is a great blessing 
to a poor sinner when God takes all the 
toil upon himself, and cares so much for 
him.’^ 

“ Yes,” I said, “ there is something needed 
to bring us along the right way.” 

Certainly,” replied my friend ; “ that 
appears as clear as day in this German. 
What toil, time, and money he has spent 
in vain, without having got a single step 
nearer to his country 1 He has journeyed 
and wandered east and west, in the vain 
endeavor to reach his fatherland ; but of 


296 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

all the steps he has taken, not one has been 
in the right direction. We know that a 
heavy debt keeps him away from his father 
and his country. This is the point upon 
which all the rest turns. As long as the 
debt is not cancelled, his fatherland must 
always be to him a far country ; and it 
matters not whether he go to Amsterdam, 
or Brussels, Aix-la-Chapelle, or Cologne. 
I see you smile at the foolish doings of the 
young man ; but, alas ! he is not the only 
one of his class. We are all kept far away 
from the heavenly country by a heavy debt, 
and we have fled from Paradise for fear 
of the Creditor whose angel with a flaming 
sword still guards the gates of Eden. Nev- 
ertheless, we are not happy on the barren 
strand on which we are now wandering 
backwards and forwards ; and we would 
willingly return to our glorious fatherland. 
So we begin to travel, driven on by a contin- 
ual disquietude, and we wander in all direc- 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 297 


tions according to the desire of our hearts, 
making ourselves believe that we shall in 
course of time reach our fatherland. But 
it avails us just as much as it did our 
German to go to Brussels. Yes, we spend 
a great deal of money, and we give our- 
selves a great deal of trouble ; we bestow 
alms, and we fast, — we exalt ourselves in 
the eyes of men, and run out of one church 
and into another, — abounding in prayers 
and hymns, and flattering ourselves with the 
hope that all this can take us back to our 
heavenly Fatherland. But, alas ! we are on 
the way to Brussels instead of Berlin, and 
many a one with all this virtue and self- 
righteousness lands in the end in the stone 
quarry, where, under the whip of a tyrant, 
he has to drag along misery with the bar- 
row-straps. I liave already stood at the 
death-bed of many so-called virtuous and 
irreproachable people, where my soul shud- 
dered at the painful sight of the fearful 


298 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


disquietude which gave the spirit of the 
sinner no rest. Ah ! how far, how infinitely 
far, did I see that their souls were separated 
from their heavenly fatherland, and that, 
too, after having all their life been journey- 
ing and wandering, under the idea that 
they would soon reach the gates of the 
celestial Paradise! Then, on the bed of 
death, and before the gaping abyss of eter- 
nity, the scales fall from the eyes of many 
a one, and then they perceive with horror 
that they have all their life long been 
working in vain, that they have been trav- 
elling and wandering over the mountains 
of vanity. Believe me, Zacharias, the 
world is full of such travellers, all hoping 
to reach their fatherland, but all having 
quite as little ground for their hope as our 
German for his when he was on the road to 
Brussels.’’ 

But,” I said, “ it is to be lamented that 
so many deceive themselves with a vain 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 299 


hope ; but they are not altogether to be 
blamed, for they are always the sport of an 
unhappy delusion.’’ 

“Yes, but a delusion to which they but 
too willingly resign themselves, in attempt- 
ing to fly the disgrace which the truth 
would bring upon them. Our German 
knows quite well, or at least should know, 
that the principal and only matter which 
he has in the first place to care for is the 
settling of his debt with his creditor. So 
long as this remains unaccomplished, all 
his labor is in vain.” 

“But,” said I, “didn’t he go to his 
cousin, just in the very hope of getting 
his debt paid ? ” 

“ Exactly so ; but what else was this 
hope than a soap-bubble in the air? If 
his own father would not pay the ^ debt, 
how could he expect that his cousin, whom 
he did not even know, would do it ? And 
why would his father not pay the debt ? 


300 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

I recollect that he spoke to us of having 
demanded the payment from his father, and, 
when his father refused, of having gone 
away angry. This explains the conduct 
of the man who had always loved his son 
as the delight of his eyes. And now I have 
an inkling of the reason why the answer is 
so long of appearing. I fear that the letter 
also, which our friend despatched to his 
father, had not been written in a right 
spirit. His heart is not yet broken, — that 
is the cause of all his misery. His position 
as a debtor he cannot deny, but to the 
ignominy attached to such a position he 
will not submit ; and, so long as he holds 
out, it is natural that his father should 
do nothing for him; for all the offerings 
of an impenitent sinner are in vain. The 
only way of escape for him lies in the hum- 
bling of a guilt-acknowledging heart. Not 
from his cousin, — from no other than his 
father must he seek help. It was him 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 301 


whom he should have asked to pay his 
debt, and therefore he should have directed 
his steps to Berlin, not to Brussels. But 
I believe that he expected from his father 
letters of rebuke, the more that the answer 
is so long of arriving, and he thus preferred 
seeking help from strangers, who would 
not, as he thought, reproach him. And 
so, my friend ! so it is with most travellers 
bound for the far country. They too often 
avoid the very matter which lies at the 
root of all — their debt. We have sinned 
against God, and that is our great shame. 
But we will not acknowledge this shame, 
and therefore we seek consolation from 
ourselves and from others, not from God ; 
for we fear that he will hold up our sin 
before us, and uncover our shame. That 
is the cause of all the needless journeys 
which men take. They will not, in their 
closet and upon their knees, confess their 
great debt before God. They will not cry 
26 


302 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

to Him, who has so much cause for anger 
against them, for the forgiveness of their 
sins and the washing out of their iniquities. 
Tlie lofty heart has no patience to wait 
for the gracious message from heaven. It 
will itself work, and travel, and wonder 
whether it can bring all right without the 
aid of the Father ; but it can never suc- 
ceed. The Father alone has the jewel 
of sufficient price to satisfy the creditor. 
Whenever He gives it up, then the far 
country is free to the debtor to enter, and 
he will be received with open arms. But, 
so long as this does not take place, it will 
be an everlasting wandering, out of one 
misery into another, without a step of 
advance towards the true rest.” 

So said my friend Jerome, and I have 
reason to believe that his words were not 
spoken in vain. At any rate, I was glad 
that I was left alone that evening, as he 
had to attend a meeting of the office- 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 303 


bearers in his church; for I then had an 
opportunity of being alone in my closet for 
a considerable time, and of thinking over 
what he had said to me. 


304 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 



NEWS FROM A PAR COUNTRY OF NO VALUE UNLESS 
GENUINE AND RELIABLE. 

I WENT one day with my friend Jerome 
to the hostelry of Michael Bliiefinger. We 
did not find our German at home, but his 
host expected him every moment. 

“ And how is he getting on now ?” asked 
my friend. 

‘‘Oh, pretty well. I have put a little 
pluck into him, and he is just gone out to 
see if he can get some work.’’ 

“ What ! work ? Has he, then, determined 
to remain here ?” 

“ Yes ; because he must” replied Blue- 
finger, shrugging his shoulders, with a grin. 
“ He has spent all his money in travelling, 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 305 


and does n’t the Bible say that he that won’t 
work neither shall he eat ?” 

“But he has still some property. Has he 
sold it yet ? ” 

“ Sold it ! I should think not ! He ’ll 
keep his hands off it, I can tell you ! When 
he has been a fortnight more with me, 
then he will owe me fully as much as the 
whole concern is worth. You know the sea- 
water has n’t improved its quality. I made 
Moses Levysson come and value it, and, 
taking that into account, he is a good deal 
more in my debt than he can pay. There 
seems to be nothing for it but to throw 
off his coat ; and I have told him that he 
is young and strong, and that he can easily 
earn twice as much as will pay his way to 
Berlin.” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” sighed my friend, while, 
shaking his head, he looked to the Inn- 
keeper. 

“How so. Pastor?” asked Bluefinger, 
26 * 


306 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

eyeing him askance. “You don’t think I 
have had any hand in his bad luck, do you ? ” 
“I did not speak a word about you,” 
quietly retorted my friend, looking at him 
with a piercing eye. “ If your conscience 
does not accuse you before God, ‘ who know- 
eth all things,’ have you any reason at all 
to care what men say ? ” 

“ Ah ! that ’s my way of thinking,” an- 
swered Michael, as he poured out a glass of 
beer. “ But, to change the subject ; do you 
know, last night a ship was again stranded 
on our coast, and a Konigsberg vessel, too, 
as I learn ? The crew were luckily saved, 
and were landed at the next village. I ’m 
vexed that we did not get the job.” 

Scarcely had the Innkeeper said this, 
when Irrling walked hastily into the room. 
He was evidently greatly excited, and the 
high flush on his cheek, with the brilliant 
sparkling of his eyes, showed that he was 
very glad at something. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 307 


“ Ah ! do I find you here, gentlemen ? 
he called out, as he placed himself beside 
us ; “ that is, indeed, fortunate. I come 
straight from the next village, where this 
morning the crew and passengers of the 
Kdnigsberg ship arrived. Among them I 
discovered a townsman of my own, who has 
left his home within a month. He has 
brought me good news. According to him, 
not long before his departure, it was a gen- 
eral matter of talk in the town, that my 
father had disposed of a valuable jewel to 
pay the debts of his son. You may easily 
suppose how much this intelligence pleased 
me. ‘You must not,Mie said to me, ‘you 
must not have such a terrible idea of your 
father’s anger. Your last encounter wuth 
him was, perhaps, a little harsh, but the 
good man did not mean to be so severe. 
He has, doubtless, long since answered you, 
but the letter has probably been lost.’ This 
has again excited in me a joyful hope, and 


308 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


I have no doubt that I shall soon have a 
letter from the old gentleman, telling me 
that I am in a condition to return home 
without fear.’’ 

“ I hope from my heart,” replied my 
friend, “ that you may not find yourself 
disappointed in this. “ But are you sure 
you can put entire faith in what your 
townsman tells you ? Are you intimately 
acquainted with him ? ” 

“ That I am ! We were always good 
companions, and saw each other every day 
at the billiard-table. He was always looked 
up to by the rest of us as a jolly and witty 
fellow, and he is just the same still, though 
he has been fished up half dead from the 
water. He is all mirth, every inch of 
him.” 

“Indeed ! ” said my friend Jerome ; and, 
after some silence, he added, “Did you 
ever happen to mention that jewel of your 
father’s to him?” 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 309 


“Oh, yes ! frequently, when we sat con- 
fidentially talking over a bottle of wine.’’ 

“ Then,” continued my friend, “ then I 
must say, that as yet I, for my part, put very 
little confidence in his information, and I 
fear that this young man has wished to 
bring you good news, in order that you 
may be well disposed towards him. Has 
he asked you for any assistance ? ” 

“ Yes, that he did ! and I gave him the 
last rix dollar I possessed.” 

“ Eh ! the sly bird ! he found a greenhorn 
in you ! ” observed Bluefinger. 

“ Are you, then, of opinion that he has 
deceived me?” inquired Irrling, anxiously. 

“ Indeed, I fear it. You are wrong to 
build your hope on such loose foundations. 
It is a great blessing when one receives 
good tidings ; but the chief point, and that 
on which the whole turns, is the question. 
Are the tidings true? Any one can bring 
us good tidings, but of what use are they 


310 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

if in the end they turn out to he false ? We 
have buoyed ourselves up with an imaginary 
hope, and the sorrow which ensues is all 
the greater. If your friend had brought 
proofs that he had only been sent by your 
father, I should wish you joy ; but it is 
only he who is the messenger of your father 
himself, who can bring not only joyful^ but 
true and genuine tidings. And as long as 
you have not these proofs, I give you this 
advice, — Do not give way to a hasty joy, 
which, in place of making you richer, will 
only plunge you into deeper poverty. You 
are now at least a rixx dollar the poorer, and 
I should think that, in your present circum- 
stances, that is no trifling loss.” 

‘‘True, true!” cried Bluefinger ; “you 
had much better have kept it in your 
pocket; or if you had given it to me, it 
would have been in much better keeping.” 

The poor German sighed, and set himself 
at the table in deep dejection, with his head 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 311 


between his hands. It was sad to see how 
much he resembled one who has suddenly 
fallen from heaven straight into a desert. 
After we had spoken some words of conso- 
lation, we took leave of him. 

“One more request,” said he; “I wish 
to write my father another letter. Would 
you have the goodness, sir, to add a few 
words to it ? Your position, in which my 
father places all confidence, will certainly 
give authority to your words, which may 
have a favorable effect. You may safely 
write in Dutch, for my father understands 
that language quite as well as I do.” 

My friend willingly acceded to his re- 
quest, and after he had, with downcast 
eyes, conducted us to the door, we wended 
our way back to the parsonage. 

On the road we spoke of nothing but the 
poor stranger, and my friend ended our con- 
versation with the following words : “We 
sinful and guilty men are much inclined to 


312 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

believe agreeable accounts of the disposition 
of God, when only it is not necessary to 
acknowledge that we have deserved his 
anger. To our poor German these tidings 
were most welcome, that his father had not 
taken it so ill as he imagined, and that the 
good man, on running over all that had 
passed, had surrendered the jewel without 
a thought. The whole affair thus assumes 
the character of youthful thoughtlessness, 
which may be all put riglit by a smile and 
a hasty repentance. Those who announce 
a message of unqualified mercy, are always 
welcome messengers. But alas ! we are ill 
served with such a message, for this simple 
reason, that it is not founded upon truth. 
And it is the truth which alone can make 
us free. So long as Irrling is satisfied with 
such tidings as these, his heart will cleave 
as much as ever to his sin ; and if, on the 
strength of such tidings, he returned to his 
native town, he would soon be the same 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 313 


careless contractor of debts as before. The 
message which God sends us from heaven 
is not merely a pleasant message, but one 
which also delivers and purifies us from our 
sins ; for it can only be received with joy 
by those who acknowledge the ruinous and 
awful nature of sin. The message comes 
accompanied by the earnest assurance, that 
God has given up his Son for us, to deliver us 
from the curse^ and to save us from his anger. 
Where part of this message is omitted, it 
may introduce the sinner to a certain joy, 
but it cannot deliver him from his sin. 
Only when he receives the message from 
his heart with this assurance, will he begin 
thoroughly to hate the evil which would 
bear him on to destruction. 


27 


314 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


Cljapttr Sffafn. 

SIN ALWAYS LEADS TO SUFFERING, BUT NOT ALWAYS 
TO TRUE SORROW. 

The following day we received Irrling’s 
letter to his father. It was to the following 
effect : 

My dear Father : — It is now more 
than two months since I have in vain looked 
out for a letter from you. I can in no 
other way explain this silence, than by the 
conjecture that my former letter has not 
reached its destination. I have been cast 
on this shore by shipwreck, and I have lost 
all my property. You can easily under- 
stand that I now find myself in very difficult 
circumstances. It would be very agreeable 
to me if you could manage it so that I could 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 315 

without trouble or care return home. You 
must not take on so about what passed 
between us ; I was somewhat angry when I 
left you, and indeed I said that I had no 
further occasion for you, and could help 
myself ; hut, you know, you made me angry 
by saying that I was a prodigal and a spend- 
thrift. Now, dear father! let all be forgiven 
and forgotten on both sides, and sell the 
locket, and there will be an end of all my 
misery. As soon as I am home again, I 
will soon gain enough to buy it back. 
Henry Tauscher has also been shipwrecked 
here, and tells me that you have already 
sold the locket. I hope from my heart that 
this is true, although the clergyman here 
will not believe it ; and I think that he may 
be right, as Henry was never much to be 
depended on. Now, farewell, dear father 1 
and may good news soon reach your affec- 
tionate son. 


“ William Irrling.’’ 


316 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

When we had read this letter, my friend 
Jerome looked earnestly at me. I knew 
what he was going to say, and anticipated 
him. “ Yes, you are right ; that heart is 
by no means broken. That is not the strain 
in which a guilty son should address his 
father. What will you add ? ’’ 

“ Do you think,” replied my friend, 
“ that I would write a single syllable under 
such a letter? We shall simply keep it, 
until the future show what use we can 
make of it.” 

Some days later Irrling again stood in 
the parsonage. He was bespattered from 
head to foot, and we scarcely knew him. 
Exhausted, he dropped into a chair, and 
the tears stood in his eyes. 

‘‘Friend Irrling,” we both cried, in a 
breath, “ what is the matter with you, and 
where do you come from?” 

“ Ah, gentlemen ! ” he answered, “ my 
misery will never be at an end ; I became 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 317 


a workman on the sea-dyke, and I have now 
been six days at the barrow.” 

“ How have you come to that ?” we asked 
ill amazement. 

‘‘ What could I do ? My money and 
property are all gone. Michael Bluefinger 
advised me to seek work at the sea-dyke, 
Avhere extensive repairs are going on. 
*• You can remain,’ he said, ‘ in your present 
quarters, and go every day to your work, 
as it is only at half an hour’s distance. 
A young fellow like you can earn a fine 
sum of money, and, if you are careful, you 
may easily accumulate as much as will pay 
your way to Berlin.’ I then told him of 
my debt, and let him see that, even if I had 
money enough, I could not dare to return 
to my native town for fear of my creditor. 
‘Oh!’ said he, ‘that doesn’t signify. You 
are now in Holland, not in Germany, and 
in Holland workmen are handsomely paid. 
You can easily earn so much as to be able 
27 * 


318 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

to save a good sum ; and if you take a few 
shares in a lottery, which I can give you 
for a trifle, you may in a single year be a 
rich man.’ I made many, objections, but 
when Michael told me that he could not 
otherwise keep me any longer, and even 
threatened immediately to turn me out of 
my lodgings, I had no choice left, and 
sorrowfully I went next morning to my 
work. But, ah! how soon did I become 
aware that I, poor shipwrecked man that I 
am, can never hope to be able by my work 
to earn even so much as will procure me 
daily bread. I have been now six long days 
at the heavy burden, but I feel that I 
cannot stand it any longer. I have not 
been accustomed from youth to such work, 
and my strength is quite unequal to it. 
Ah, sirs ! I am very miserable, and if noth- 
ing better turns up, I wish God would end 
my life. Still the thought of my father 
gives me some consolation, and I come here 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 319 


merely to learn if you despatched my letter, 
and what you added. 

“ Irrling, from my heart I pity you,” 
answered my friend Jerome, taking a seat 
beside him ; “ but this turn of affairs does 
not surprise me. You have taken your 
way in your own hands, and whenever a 
man does that, he may be quite sure that 
the end of it will be misery. ‘ God resisteth 
the proud, but he giveth grace unto the 
humble.’ I have neither sent your letter, 
nor have I written a single word under it ; 
for such a letter a guilty son may not write 
to his father.” 

‘‘ How so, sir ? is there anything in it, do 
you think, which would tell unfavorably to 
my case?” 

“ That there is ! for the letter breathes 
the language not of a repentant heart, but 
of a frivolous spirit, which makes light of 
sin. Say, now, if you open your heart 
unreservedly to me, have you not deeply 


320 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


offended your good father ? Have you not 
dissipated the greater part of his property 
by your frivolous prodigality ? And, on 
the other hand, has not your father borne 
with you in the most kind and tender 
manner, being patient with your follies, 
and long-suffering towards your errors?’’ 

To these words Irrling made no answer, 
hut sat with his head bent down. 

“ Well, now,” continued my friend Je- 
rome, I will consider this silence to mean 
assent. If, then, such is the state of mat- 
ters, are not you guilty, and has not your 
father good reason to be angry with you ? 
Come to him, then, with this acknowledg- 
ment of guilt in your heart, and with a 
prayer for forgiveness on your lips ! But, 
alas ! in place of this you would have your 
misconduct to be a slight mistake, and you 
reproach your father with his anger, as if it 
were unjust. To such a heart, my friend, 
God cannot give his grace, and therefore 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 321 


He stands as an adversary in your path, 
cutting off all hope of escape, so that you 
must come to utter misery. Believe me, 
you have sought happiness at Amsterdam 
and at Brussels, and now you seek it again 
in the lottery and in the barrow ; but there 
is quite as little to be found in the one as 
in the other. Your father it is who must 
help you, and he would probably have done 
so long ago, if you had gone to him in the 
right way. But to judge from the present 
letter, I feel assured that your former one 
altogether missed the right spirit ; and I 
think it probable that this is the reason 
why you are so long of having a letter from 
your father. For though to his child a 
father is always willing to write, who will 
speak with a rebel?’’ 

In this way, and at much greater length, 
spoke my friend Jerome to the poor young 
man, and it appeared to me that what he 
said impressed him. At last the tears 


322 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

gushed from his eyes, and some little time 
elapsed before he could reply. 

“ Reverend sir,” he said, “ I believe that 
there is great truth in what you say, and I 
receive your words with thankfulness. I 
only hope that my father may have consid- 
ered the matter favorably, and that he will 
not treat me too severely ; but, indeed, if 
his answer does not soon arrive, I do not 
know what I shall come to, for I am tired 
of living in this way, and I have no desire 
to prolong my existence.” 

‘‘Young man,” said Jerome, earnestly, 
“ take care that you do not give yourself 
over entirely into the hands of the wicked 
one. He is a murderer, and whoso listens 
to him, loveth death and hateth life. Turn 
your eyes not to him, but to the living God, 
to whom ‘belong the issues of death.’ Say 
not only to your earthly father, I have 
sinned, but cry with David to the Lord, 
Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 323 


Then shall you experience, that for you too 
there flows a stream, in which you may be 
washed thoroughly from your iniquities, and 
that for you also there is a ‘ free Spirit,’ 
which can restore to you the joy of salva- 
tion.” 

Upon these words Irrling took his depar- 
ture, after shaking us by the hand with 
visible emotion, but with great despondency 
in his countenance. 

“ His answer does not yet please me,” I 
said, as I looked after him. 

“No,” answered my friend ; “ but he is 
yet only in the beginning of the struggle, 
and from such a one the language of a con- 
queror is not to be expected.” 


324 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


C^apttr 


THE DARKNESS WHICH PRECEDES THE DAWN OF DAY. 


A FORTNIGHT passod, during which time 
we neither saw nor heard anything of our 
shipwrecked friend. At last, one day there 
came a message, asking if the minister 
would be so good as to come to him, for he 
was seriously ill. 

“You go with me?’’ said my friend Je- 
rome to me. 

“ Oh, if I may, most willingly,” I an- 
swered. 

“ Certainly ; why should you not ? I 
believe that we shall learn to-day to know 
a weary soul.” 

We found the sick man in a small dark 
garret, off Michael Bluefinger’s hay-loft. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 325 


A wretched pallet of straw was all his 
bed, and it was difficult to say what the 
blankets which covered him were made of. 
There he lay, in a burning fever. We 
were awe-struck at his appearance, for 
he seemed fully ten years older, and utter 
exhaustion was stamped on his counte- 
nance. 

Ah ! it is good that you are come,’’ he 
said, holding out his hand ; I believe that 
I am near my end. I have had a hard fight, 
but it cannot last much longer. Only I 
would say to you, and for this I would 
shake your hand thankfully, your words 
have opened my eyes. When I left you, I 
conceived the design of making away with 
myself. I took the road to the sea-dyke, 
and sat down before the foaming waves. 
There I considered whether or not I should 
end my misery by a single leap. There 
was a voice within me urging me to the 
deed, and I actually rose twice to put my 
28 


326 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

plan into execution. But God prevented 
me, and made me think of the words which 
you last spoke to me. It then became 
evident that you had laid open the true 
cause of my father’s silence. I stand now 
looking death in the face ; why should I 
hesitate to confess the whole truth ? I 
have grievously sinned against my earthly 
father and against God. My first letter 
to my father was full of reproaches, and 
I demanded imperiously that he should 
sell the jewel. And when I thought over 
this on the sea-shore, I saw that I had 
destroyed myself and that I had nothing 
more to hope from my father. These 
thoughts made me desperate, and therefore 
I sought to drown my misery in the waves. 
But I then remembered that you had said, 
‘God giveth grace unto the humble, but 
He resisteth the proud.’ There was a voice 
witliin me which made itself heard above 
the ceaseless roaring of the boisterous bil- 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 327 


lows: ‘With this God you shall have to 
do ! Him you cannot fly, though you cast 
yourself into the depths of the sea ! ’ This 
brought me to a stand-still. I lost courage 
to throw myself by a reckless death before 
the bar of the Almighty Judge. In deep 
wretchedness I returned home. To work 
at the dyke I felt I was unable, so I went 
to the solitude of my little garret. You 
had advised me to fall on my knees and cry 
to God. I did so ; but scarcely had I poured 
out a few words from the depths of my 
soul, when Bluefinger climbed up the lad- 
der, and demanded, in a fierce manner, if 
I thought he was going to keep me for 
nothing ? He ordered me to be off instantly 
to my work at the dyke. But that was 
impossible. The hard work would have 
worn out my poor body in a few days, and, 
what is worse, the rough godless life would 
have ruined my soul forever. I besought 
my landlord to have pity on me, and to take 


328 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

into account, that I had never all my life 
been accustomed to such rough company. 
At last he allowed himself to be entreated, 
and fixed that I should remain in his house, 
on the agreement that for his food and 
shelter I was to give my service. This I 
took as a kindness ; and now I had to do 
all the rough work in the kitchen and in 
the cow-house, in the field and in the barn. 
I felt it hard, and steeped the scanty morsel 
that was thrown to me in sweat and tears. 
But tired as I returned in the evening to 
my garret, I have spent many hours awake 
upon my knees; or, getting up at break 
of day, have refreshed myself with the 
word of God, the reading of which you so 
strongly recommended. And thus my eyes 
have opened more and more. I am now 
convinced, that by my wickedness I have 
forfeited all happiness both in this world 
and in that to come. I have ill-used my 
good old father in a most shameful way ; 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


329 


and God knows whether the cause of his 
silence and not writing may not be, that 
lie is already sleeping in his grave, down 
to which I have brought his gray hairs 
with sorrow.” 

Here the poor fellow was silent for a 
while, and gave free course to his tears. 
We, too, said nothing, for emotion pre- 
vented our speaking. 

‘‘ Oh ! oh! ” he burst out at last ; I am 
a great and awful sinner. My heart has 
no peace, and there is no rest for my soul. 
I stand before the gates of eternity, laden 
with the curse of a father, whose love I 
have trodden under foot, whose name I 
have disgraced, whose life I have probably 
shortened. And now I lie here in the 
deepest misery, lost in body and soul, de- 
serted by God and man, and that in the 
sight of the death which will soon usher 
me into eternity, and the presence of the 
righteous Judge.” 

28 * 


330 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

Here the young man concluded his heart- 
rending confessions. Exhausted by the 
effort, he fell hack on his pillow, if the 
bundle of straw, upon which his burning 
head rested, deserved the name. I looked 
at my friend Jerome. His eyes, like mine, 
were full of tears. 

“ Zacharias,” said he, in a subdued voice, 
that is a weary soul. Far from its father- 
land — toiling under the load of a gnawing 
conscience — without tidings from afar, and 
without hope of the future ! Such a soul, 
Zacharias, is weary unto death, and there 
is no weariness like unto the weariness of 
the soul.” 

‘‘ Ah ! ” I said, let us console him. 
Possibly his father is still in life. Possibly 
lie has already forgiven him all. Possibly 
God may” — 

“Possibly!” murmured the sick man, 
who had caught these words. “ Ah 1 what 
good can possibly do me ? No, no ! my 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 331 


guilt is past forgiveness. It is too great 
— too awful — too monstrous.” 

Here he again was silent, for exhaustion 
evidently prevented his speaking. He 
merely moved his spasmodically clasped 
hands up and down, and he lay there 
before our eyes — the very impersonation 
of absolute disquietude. 

“ You see,” said my friend Jerome, that 
possibly yields here but meagre consolation. 
Such weariness needs another resting-place 
than is to be found in the region of possi- 
bilities. It needs assurance^ unmistakable 
assurance^ and so long as it has not this 
it cannot obtain rest.” 

‘‘ Yes, ah, yes ! that is true,” said I, 
deeply affected; ‘‘but how shall we give 
him assurance?” 

“ There is one means for that end,” an- 
swered my friend Jerome ; “ it is, that we 
bring him good tidings from a far land.” 

“ Good tidings ! yes, good tidings ! ” cried 


332 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


the sick man. “But for me — no more. 
It is too late.” 

“And yet I have tidings for you,” replied 
my friend Jerome. 

“From my father?” shrieked the sick 
man, starting up as if hy an electric shock, 
while he stared at my friend with his eyes 
sparkling with the fever-flush. 

“Yes, from your Father who is in heaven,” 
answered my friend, in a solemn tone. 
“ But, Irrling, you could not bear them 
now. I shall return when the fever has 
left you. You need rest. Think only on 
what I have so often told you : Jesus Christ 
came into the world to save sinners. Turn 
unto Him, for He calleth out to you. Come 
unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden, and I will give you rest.” 

With these words my friend rose, and, 
extending his hands over the sick man, he 
, offered up a short, but touching prayer. 
Then promising to return soon, he com- 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 333 

mended him to the best and only Comforter 
of weary souls, and signing to me, he led 
me from that sick-bed, a scene which, were 
I to live a hundred years, I should never 
forget. 


334 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


UNBELIEF KEEPS MANY TRAVELLERS FROM REACHING 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 

The following morning, the sun had 
scarcely risen above the horizon, when my 
friend Jerome was already at my bed-side, 
and awoke me with these words : Will 
you come with me ? I am going to visit 
our sick German.’’ 

‘^Most willingly,” I replied, rising ; ‘‘but 
how late is it ? ” 

“ Not quite half-past four.” 

“ Well, really, you will be with him early 
this morning.” 

“Yes, and I have a reason for it. I have 
scarcely slept at all. The poor German was 
continually before my mind. I still heard 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 335 


him crying, ‘ Ah ! if I only knew that my 
father had forgiven me all ! ’ Then I 
thought, what an unspeakably glorious 
message it is, which we have received from 
God in Christ — that the Father has for- 
given us all ! But it is a glorious message 
for that child only who is grieved for the 
anger of his father. These thoughts, which 
refreshed me, at the same time drove sleep 
from my eyes, and I determined, as soon 
as the day broke, to rise and go to visit 
our poor friend. Just as I was beginning 
to dress, Martha knocked at my door, and 
informed me that Simon the postman had 
met with an accident last night, and wished 
to speak with me, as he was approaching 
his end. I was thus all the more pleased 
that I had risen, for this Simon lives quite 
at the other side of the village. If you 
have no objections, we will first pay him a 
visit, and then look in to see how our ship- 
wrecked friend is. Dress yourself quickly ; 


336 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

meantime I shall go down stairs and let 
Martha know of our intention, in case she 
he alarmed at my absence.” 

In a few moments I was dressed and 
ready for the journey. My friend Jerome 
was waiting for me at the breakfast-table, 
and in his prayer he remembered both the 
sick men at the throne of grace. Ah ! he 
might well have remembered me as a third 
sick man, for if my body was not sick, 
my heart was ; and besides, I had slept 
little all night. It was late in the evening 
when we had returned from the sick-bed 
of the German ; and, full of the impressions 
I had there received, I sought my room. 
There, left to myself, I had drawn a com- 
parison between my own condition and that 
of the unhappy young man, and I had come 
to the conclusion, that, although I possessed 
outwardly great advantages over him, nev- 
ertheless, inwardly, my spirit was yet in 
greater poverty than his. “For,” said I 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 337 


to myself, this young man has offended 
his earthly parent not nearly so deeply as 
I have my heavenly Father; and if he 
thirsts after tidings of forgiveness from his 
fatherland, how much more should I long 
for them from the far country in the skies I ” 
But, I thought again, how shall I be able 
to obtain this forgiveness ; or rather, how 
shall I dare to appropriate to myself this 
message of forgiveness, when I possess 
absolutely nothing of the" pious and godly 
disposition which makes one worthy of 
forgiveness? Were I, as my friend Jerome, 
filled with the love and life of Christ, ah ! 
then the message of forgiveness would be 
for me ; but, how infinitely far do I stand 
below him, and what a change must come 
over me, before I have advanced far enough 
to receive, like liim, the welcome tidings ! 
So I thought within myself ; and such was 
the distance which separated me from for- 
giveness, so great to my eyes, that, despair- 

29 


338 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

ing, I sank down on my knees and cried 
nothing but “ 0, Lord God ! show me the 
way I should go to make me wortliy of 
forgiveness!” Now I see that this was a 
foolish prayer ; but what can a man ask 
but foolishness, so long as he does not turn 
his eyes to the light of grace ? I threw 
myself on my bed, but the disquietude of 
my spirit drove slumber from my eyelids. 
By morning I had slept a little, when my 
friend Jerome awoke me ; and now I sat by 
his side, while he began the day with earnest 
prayer. One can thus easily see why I, 
when he had prayed for the two sick men, 
sighed inwardly, “ Oh ! would that you had 
now a prayer for my poor troubled heart ! ” 
In the meantime, it was comfort to me that 
he had commended both his own and my 
soul to the grace of the faithful Shepherd ; 
for, thought I, from that quarter alone can 
I expect assistance or healing. 

After a pleasant walk in the bracing air 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 339 


of the morning, which blew freshly from 
the sea, we reached the dwelling of Simon 
the postman. We found him in a very 
thoughtful mood, for the Doctor had said 
that he was afraid he would not live till 
evening. As soon as he saw my friend 
Jerome, he motioned to him to come to his 
bed-side, and said, in a weak voice : 

“ Oh, what a blessing it is that you are 
come ! I have a crime on my soul, and I 
must unburden myself of it before I die. 
You know that about three months ago a 
German was shipwrecked on this coast, and 
that he had saved some property from the 
wreck. You yourself once sent to me to 
inquire if there was a letter for the man 
from Germany. I said ‘No!’ but that was 
a lie. Michael Bluefinger persuaded me ; 
he promised to give me half of what the 
German’s property brought, if I withheld 
the letter. I allowed myself to be tempted 
by this offer, and since then I have received 


340 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

the money from Michael. But God comes 
now to visit me for my crime, and He 
shows that He is a God who will not be 
mocked, and who will execute judgment 
for the oppressed. My wife will give you 
the letter, along with what still remains of 
the iniquitous money.” 

With these words the sick man signed to 
his wife, who placed in my friend’s hand 
the letter with a small bag of money. We 
looked at one another in amazement, and 
my friend raised his eyes to heaven with 
a look which told how much his spirit was 
astonished at the wonderful ways of the 
Lord. 

“And now,” said the sick man, “this 
load is olf my heart, but oh ! what have I 
to expect when I appear before the Eternal 
Judge ! Is there yet hope for me? What 
think you. Pastor ? can there yet be hope 
for me ? ” 

“ Simon,” said Jerome, “ do you ac- 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 341 


knowledge that you have deserved eternal 
death?” 

‘‘ Yes, yes ! ” replied the dying man, 
“ altogether : all punishment which is in- 
flicted on me I shall call righteous, for I 
am worthy of nothing but punishment.” 

“ And on the Cross,” added my friend, 
the Son of God was hanged ; do you think 
He was worthy of the punishment which 
He underwent ? ” 

“ No ! He was guiltless,” cried the sick 
man. “He suffered for the sins of oth- 
ers.” 

“Well, then,” said Jerome, “can you 
now believe that He has suffered for your 
sins, and that He has borne your punish- 
ment?” 

“ Ah, no ! my sin is too great ! ” groaned 
the sick man. “ I am a thief and a cheat ; 
my sin is too great ! Would that I had a 
little longer to live and to atone for my 
wickedness! Oh, how gladly should I do 
29 * 


342 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


that — but it is now too late ! My guilt is 
too great ! 

While he said this, the poor man burst 
out into heart-rending lamentation. My 
friend tried to comfort him with the conso- 
lation afforded by the Cross, but he would 
not be comforted. Too great ! too great ! 
too late ! too late ! ” was all that we could 
get from him, until at last his voice began 
to fail, and the iron grasp of death had 
closed his lips. There he lay, with the 
traces of agony in his countenance, indi- 
cating all too clearly in what an awful state 
of despair the soul had been launched into 
eternity. 

“ Zacharias ! ” said my friend Jerome to 
me, when we found ourselves on the high 
road, what a fearful thing it is to fall into 
the hands of the living God ! Truly it is 
written: ^He that believeth not the Son 
shall not see life, but the wrath of God 
abideth on him.’^ This unhappy man is 


1 John iii. 36. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 343 

gone in the way of Cain, who also said, 
^Mine iniquity is greater than that it may he 
forgiven ! This is the greatest sin, which 
strengthens all other sins, — not to believe 
that the grace of God is stronger than our 
wickedness.’^ 

“ But, ah ! ” said I, while tears hindered 
my utterance, this man had so much upon- 
his conscience, and I could quite under- 
stand him when he said, ‘ Had I still some 
time to live, then I could hope for forgive- 
ness, when I had turned from my evil way 
and atoned for my guilt.’ ” 

“ Yes, that I understand also quite well,” 
answered Jerome ; but I understand it as 
the natural language of a proud unbroken 
sinful heart, which thinks it can change 
itself, and wash out its guilt by its own 
righteousness. It is but the ruinous folly 
of an arrogant heart, unwilling to receive 
forgiveness as of free grace, and imagining 
it can deserve it by its own works. The 


1 Gen. iv. 13. Marginal Reading. 


344 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


thief on the cross, however, thought other- 
wise. He allowed that he deserved nothing 
but punishment, and yet he believed that 
the crucified King, who hung at his side, 
was powerful enough to carry him to Para- 
dise, although he could offer Him nothing 
but the humble and earnest prayer of a soul 
in terror of death and hell, but clinging to 
the mercy of God. Not a work did or 
could this thief perform, and yet he was 
saved. And by what ? By the assurance 
in his soul that the grace of Jesus was 
stronger than all the sins which he had 
committed, however great they were in his 
own eyes. And that is the only honor 
which a sinner can bestow on Jesus — that 
he should not think that he can by his sin 
open an abyss which Jesus cannot more 
than fill.” 

“ But,” I said, ‘‘ how can we believe that 
He has forgiven our sins, so long as we are 
not changed for the better ? ” 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 345 


“ I would rather reverse the question,’’ 
replied my friend ; “ how can we be changed 
for the better, as long as we do not believe 
that our sins are forgiven ? Christ says, 
‘Without me ye can do nothing.’ We 
must first possess Him before we can do 
anything. You, on the other hand, wish 
to do something before you receive Him. 
Do you not understand what He says, ‘ I 
came not to call the righteous^ but sinners 
to repentance ? ’ A sinner, then, is here 
distinguished from a righteous man, by 
being able to do nothing. So long as you 
can do anything, you are not a sinner, and 
you walk without* Christ. So it was with 
him whom we have just seen entering eter- 
nity without Christ, — he always looked for 
an opportunity of doing something.” 

“ But,” said I, in despair, “ how shall I 
then be saved ? ” 

“ Zacharias,” answered my friend, taking 
me by the hand, as he pointed to the sun 


346 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

which shone bright and glorious in the 
firmament before us, ‘‘do you ask, while 
the sun shines, how shall I be warmed ? 
Surely we need not give the sun anything 
in order that it may warm us. We place 
ourselves in its rays, and we have only to 
receive. And lo ! when by its cherishing 
warmth it has thawed our benumbed limbs, 
then we live and go on our way, and we 
begin to do many things through the warmth 
of the sun. So it is with Christ and the 
poor dead heart of the sinner. He must be 
the beginning ; as it is written, ‘i* am the 
Alpha.’ In a perfect alphabet there is no 
letter before Alpha; and all letters which 
are put before it are out of place and stand 
in the way, hindering you from coming to 
Alpha. If you would be saved, begin at 
the right beginning; nothing remains for 
you to do but to receive Christ, just as you 
have now received the rays of the sun, — so 
to stand that He may take a place in your 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 347 


heart with the fulness of that love, where- 
with He has loved you — unworthy, and 
delivered you from all sin. Think on this 
great sin ; Christ will come to you, not 
because you have loved Him^ but because 
He has loved you. As it is written, ^He first 
loved us.^ 

So spoke my friend Jerome, and his words 
were to my soul like drops of rain on the 
parched ground. 


348 THE SHIPWRECKED TEATELLEE. 


dljapifjr €tn. 

GOOD NEWS BELIEVED, GIVES HEALTH TO THE DYING. 

Meanwhile we came in sight of the 
dwelling of Michael Bliiefinger, and, as 
my friend produced the letter which Simon 
had given him, he said : 

“ Let us now see what tidings we have 
to bring our poor shipwrecked friend from 
his fatherland.’’ 

The seal was broken, — so we could easily 
open the letter. Probably the rascals had 
hoped to find money in it, hut here they 
had been disappointed, though the letter 
contained a cheque for two hundred guil- 
ders, which they had been prudent enough 
not to attempt to cash. With eager eyes 
we ran over the writing, but our endeavors 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 349 


to deciplier it were vain, for not only was 
neither of ns a good reader of German 
writing, but the writer had such a bad 
hand, and, though very flowing, yet so 
indistinct that we could make out noth- 
ing but the beginning: Lieher Sohn^ and 
the end. Dein dich herzlich liebender Voter, 
It was, however, quite enough for us. 
We came to the conclusion that this 
letter contained good tidings from a far 
country. 

We had by this time reached the dwelling 
of Michael Bluefinger. 

‘‘How is the sick man?” asked my friend 
of him, as he opened the door to us. 

“ Oh ! much better than yesterday,” an- 
swered the rascal. He has had a pretty 
good rest last night, and the fever has left 
him.” 

“ Could he bear to be conversed with ? ” 

“ Certainly. He has repeatedly asked 
for you. Shall I show you the way ? ” 

30 


» 


350 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


No, that is not necessary ; it is better 
we should speak to him alone.’’ 

We found the sick man in his bed, look- 
ing pale as death. The fever, it is true, had 
left him, but only to give way to utter pros- 
tration of strength. Scarcely could he open 
his eyes and stretch out his hand ; but when 
he saw us, a smile of joy lit up his counte- 
nance. 

“ Ah ! you are there already,” he said ; 

I did not dare to expect you so soon.” 

We made inquiry after his bodily health, 
and found that he was exhausted by the 
fever, but that he had still strength enough 
left to carry on a conversation with us. 

‘‘ Irrling,” said my friend Jerome, “ in 
what state is your heart ? Have you 
peace ? ” 

“Peace? ah, no! how should I have 
peace ? I would rather die than live, were 
it not that I fear that something awaits me 
after death even worse than the misery 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


351 


which I now suffer. The whole night the 
image of my father was before my mind, 
and I felt as if he were laying on me the 
whole weight of his curse. Yes ! he has 
certainly died of a broken heart, and it has 
been all my doing. I shall never see his 
face throughout eternity ! ’’ 

“ But, if a letter came to-day from him,” 
said my friend, “ what should you say ? ” 

At this the sick man, who before had 
been scarcely able to move a limb, as if by 
a shock, sat up erect, and fastening his 
bright eyes on Jerome, cried, “ A letter ? 
a letter to-day ? Is my father — is he still 
alive ? ” 

Yes ! ” replied my friend, why should 
he not be ? And what should you say if I 
had the letter in my hand? Should you 
have strength enough to read it ? ” 

With these words he produced the wel- 
come letter, while the young man, raising 
his hands to heaven, murmured, “My God! 


352 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

I thank thee ! He took the letter into 
his hand, and when he had read the address 
in his father’s writing, he covered it with 
kisses. He then opened the paper, and 
without paying any attention to the cheque 
which fell from it, he began to read at 
intervals the contents to us, of which the 
following is a translation : 

“ My Dear Son : — I received your letter 
yesterday. What joy there was then in my 
house ! for since your departure it has been 
as if it were the abode of death. When 
you left me in a passion, I had begged you 
with tears to consider what you did, for 
that you were running to your destruc- 
tion ; and I always cherished a secret hope 
that you would return. But when I learned 
that you had sailed from Stettin, I gave 
up all hope. Ah! did I not always tell 
you that I would willingly give you all 1 
possessed, only that the imperious tone 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 353 


which you used was not becoming, and 
that hy it you need not hope to move me ? 
Why did you take that in anger ? I loved 
you, 0, my son ! and I only acted thus 
because I loved you. To retrieve your 
credit, I took the locket next day straight 
to the jeweller, who gave me so much for it 
that I not only paid your debt, but had a 
considerable sum over for myself. If I — 
so thought I — were to die, my son shall 
not at any rate be prevented from returning 
to his fatherland. And he will come to 
know that his father loved him to the last. 
I took care to put an advertisement in the 
newspapers, intelligible to you, so that it 
might thus come to your knowledge. I 
looked out every day for a letter, which might 
indicate your whereabouts. At last, after 
waiting two months, I yesterday received 
your letter from Holland, in which I read 
mth fear and joy of your deliverance by the 
grace of God from tlie jaws of death. Ah ! 

. 30 ^ 


354 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

my son, may you learn from that to humble 
yourself, and to turn to God. But the 
spirit in which you write makes me doubt 
whether you do this. Bemember, I would 
not have sold the most valuable jewel which 
I possessed for a mere youthful delinquency. 
Your sin is great, not only against me, but 
also and chiefly against God. You have 
followed after the world and its lusts, and, 
to obtain your end, you have trifled with 
the happiness and the honorable name of 
your father. You cannot allege that I say 
this in order to find grounds whereby to 
justify myself in keeping for myself my last 
and dearest jewel ; for I have already sur- 
rendered it ; and even if you should never 
return to me in repentance, like the prodi- 
gal son, I shall still hold it not to have been 
offered in vain, — for this very offering will 
serve to testify that you went to ruin, not 
driven by the hatred, but in the face of the 
love of a fond father. But, I beseech you, 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 355 


my son ! return, and see the folly and the 
ruin of your evil way. You may now freely 
return, since your creditor is satisfied, and 
you shall find your father’s arms wide open 
to receive you, for I forgive with my whole 
heart all your misconduct. But, alas ! what 
will it avail, if you do not desire my for- 
giveness ? And, to my grief, I see no proof 
of it in your letter. Ah ! I beseech you, 
come back as my son^ not as my enemy ^ for 
otherwise it were better that you did not 
come at all, as then your last state should 
be worse than your first. 

‘‘May you, however, — this is my heart- 
felt prayer to God for you, — may you 
return to your father with a broken spirit ! 
Use the enclosed cheque to defray the 
expense of your journey, and be assured 
that I shall receive you with great joy, 
because it may then be said that ‘ you were 
lost and are found.’ — I am, your most 
affectionate father.” 


356 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


Many times, while reading this touching 
letter, was the sick man interrupted by his 
tears. “ Oh ! ’’ he cried at last, “ how is it 
possible ! what love, — and for a wicked 
son like me ! Ah ! now my heart will 
burst. It brings no curse, then, but a 
blessing ! It is too much ! Yes, far too 
much ! ” 

With these words he fell back on his 
pillow in a swoon. 

After several attempts, we succeeded in 
restoring him, and my friend gave him a 
little sound advice. 

“ Behave yourself now like a man,” he 
said, ‘‘ and do not let yourself be carried 
away by joy. I have brought you joyful 
tidings ; take a little rest, while we leave 
you for a time. Don’t say a word to any 
one of what we have told you, and above 
all avoid conversation with your host upon 
the subject. The reasons for this you will 


soon see. 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 357 


With a cheerful smile on his lips, the 
sick man shook us by the hand, and we 
took leave of him. 

Eeaching the street, we went straight to 
the Burgomaster, and gave information of 
the shameless villany of Michael Blue- 
finger. The same evening he was lodged 
in prison, and it was generally known in 
what a disgraceful way he had used his 
German lodger. The goods of the latter 
were for the most part found in his house, 
and were immediately placed under seal 
for the behoof of the rightful owner. 

While we were on our way homewards, 
my friend Jerome said to me, See, Zacha- 
rias, the good news for our poor shipwrecked 
traveller arrived long ago ; but there were 
secret villains about him. So it is with 
many who are shipwrecked. The joyful 
message is before all, and the sound of it 
is heard everywhere, but all have not faith ; 
for the power of the Wicked One to trouble 


358 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 


the world is still great. Let us not neglect 
to shout out the joyful tidings, so that it 
may everywhere be heard, and let us pray 
the Lord that He would destroy all the 
works of the devil, whereby he would ex- 
tinguish the light of salvation.’’ 

The following day we visited our ship- 
wrecked friend, and found him sitting up 
in bed, with his father’s letter in his hand. 

“How do you feel?” we asked, both to- 
gether. 

“ Oh ! excellently ! capitally ! I am all 
right, with exception of a little want of 
strength, and that, with God’s blessing, will 
soon return.” 

“ Ah ! has the medicine had such good 
effect ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes ! that is the medicine,” he said, 
smiling, as he pointed to his father’s letter. 

“You see,” said my friend Jerome, “ what 
good news from a far country can do for a 
weary soul. It is like fresh showers of rain 
upon a parched land.” 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 359 


‘‘ Yes, yes,” said Irrling, like fresh 
showers of rain. My soul again draws 
breath in the land of the living, and yes- 
terday I thought it should have been suffo- 
cated in sorrow and anguish. But thus 
has this letter acted. Forgiveness ! I have 
perfect forgiveness, and a free entrance into 
my fatherland, for the debtor is satisfied, 
and the law has no more claim upon mo ; 
and all through my father’s love, in which 
he gave his all for me, an unworthy sinner ! 
That refreshes my soul ; and now I wish 
not to die, but to live ; yes, to live a life of 
love!” 

So spoke the overjoyed young man, and 
we heartily rejoiced with him. Ere four- 
teen days had elapsed, his health was quite 
established, and he came to take leave of us. 

‘‘ And now,” said my friend Jerome to 
him, “you go without fear to the far 
country.” 

“ That I do! ” he answered, with a smile ; 


360 THE SIIIPWliECKED TRAVELLER. 

‘‘ and by the railway, too ; for the shortest 
way is to me now the best. I have made 
inquiry as to the journey, and I have found 
that in four days I shall see my father. 
Ah, would it were but four hours ! for my 
heart outruns the quickest travelling, and 
can scarcely wait for the time when I shall 
throw myself into my father’s arms ! ” 

With these words he sprang up, and, 
shaking us both by the hand, took his 
departure with tears of joy. We saw him 
off, and he leaped lightly into the vehicle 
which stood at the garden door to carry 
him to the nearest town. 

“ Zacharias,” said my friend Jerome, 
laying his hand on my shoulder, “see what 
good news from a far country is to a 
weary soul I Should you have said that 
this blithe young fellow is the same as he 
who a fortniglit ago was sitting in despair 
on the brink of the valley of the Shadow of 
Death ? But that is the effect of a joyful 


THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 361 


message upon a sorrowful and broken heart. 
It renews our youth like the eagles’ ; it 
gives wings to let us fly ; it makes us danc# 
so that we have no more sorrow. And how 
was it that good tidings exerted such an 
influence on this young man ? By faith : 
for had he not believed his father’s letter, 
he would have sunk under his weariness. 
But he did not doubt him, and receiving 
his message as true and sincere, he has 
found in him a place of rest, where his soul 
has risen to a new life. And how could 
this faith in the good news infuse such 
strength into his soul ? Thus, — he was 
weary and could find no place of rest for 
his soul : here was good news for him, which 
alone could give him entire support. And 
now he goes on his way rejoicing to his 
fatherland, which for him is no longer a far 
country. He is no longer afraid, for all his 
questions have been answered. He is no 
longer sorrowful, for the sea is now calm. 


31 


362 THE SHIPWRECKED TRAVELLER. 

He no longer sits despondent and weary, for 
he is rich in hope, and his strength is fresh, 
iiook, Zacharias, how faith renews the heart 
of man, and what wonders good news from a 
far country works in a soul that is weary ! ” 
So spoke my friend Jerome, and I wrote 
it all down in my memorandum-book, for I 
thought it would be profitable for me often 
to call it up to my recollection during the 
rest of my life ; and when, soon afterwards, 
I returned to Leyden, I concluded the first 
letter I wrote to him with these words : ■ — 
“Your poor shipwrecked traveller has burned 
the boat that he was building, on the shore 
where it lay ; for, God be praised ! he has 
now learned to know good news, and this 
has given him eagles’ wings with which he 
SOARS ALOFT, AND JOYFUL FLIES TO THE FAR 
COUNTRY ! ” 




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